3'. 


fyt  same  0utljor* 


ADIRONDACK  STORIES. 

BY  P.  DEMING. 
"  Little  Classic  '  '  style.    i8mo,  75  cents. 

CONTENTS.  —  Lost  ;  Lida  Ann  ;  John's  Trial  ;  Joe 
Baldwin;  Willie;  Benjamin  Jacques;  Ike's  Wife  ; 
An  Adirondack  Neighborhood. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   &   CO. 

Publishers, 
BOSTON. 


Tompkins  and  Other  Folks 


STORIES  OF  THE  HUDSON  AND 
THE  ADIRONDACKS 


P.   DEMING 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
New  York:  11  East  Seventeenth  Street 


1885 


Copyright,  1884, 
BY  P.  DBMINQ. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


NOTE. 

THREE  of  these  sketches  originally  appeared  in 
The  Atlantic  Monthly,  two  in  Lippincott's  Maga- 
zine, and  one  in  Harper's  Christmas. 


M811433 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

TOMPKINS 1 

RUBE  JONES 34 

JACOB'S  INSURANCE 75 

MR.  TOBY'S  WEDDING  JOURNEY    ....  103 

HATTIE'S  ROMANCE 138 

THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE 153 

AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME 186 


TOMPKINS. 


BE  was  a  small,  wiry  man,  about  forty 
years  of  age,  with  a  bright  young 
face,  dark  eyes,  and  iron-gray  hair. 
We  were  reclining  in  a  field,  under  a  clump 
of  pines,  on  a  height  overlooking  Lake  Cham- 
plain.  Near  by  were  the  dull-red  brick  build- 
ings of  the  University  of  Vermont.  Burling- 
ton, blooming  with  flowers  and  embowered  in 
trees,  sloped  away  below  us.  Beyond  the 
town,  the  lake,  a  broad  plain  of  liquid  blue, 
slept  in  the  June  sunshine,  and  in  the  farther 
distance  towered  the  picturesque  Adirondacks. 
"  It  is  certainly  true,"  said  Tompkins,  turn- 
ing upon  his  side  so  as  to  face  me,  and  prop- 
ping his  head  with  his  hand,  while  his  elbow 

rested  on  the  ground.     "  Don't  you  remember, 

1 


TOMPKINS. 


I  used  to  insist  that  they  were  peculiar,  when 
we  were  here  in  college  ?  " 

I  remembered  it  very  distinctly,  and  so  in- 
formed my  old  classmate. 

"I  always  said,"  he  continued,  "that  I 
could  not  do  my  best  in  New  England,  because 
there  is  no  sentiment  in  the  atmosphere,  and 
the  people  are  so  peculiar." 

"  You  have  been  living  in  Chicago  ?  "  I  re- 
marked inquiringly. 

"  That  has  been  my  residence  ever  since  we 
were  graduated;  that  is,  for  about  seventeen 
years,"  he  replied. 

"  You  are  in  business  there,  I  believe  ?  "  I 
questioned. 

Tompkins  admitted  that  he  was,  but  did  not 
name  the  particular  line. 

"  Halloo !  "  he  suddenly  called  out,  rising  to 
his  feet,  and  looking  toward  the  little  brown 
road  near  us.  I  looked  in  the  same  direction, 
and  saw  a  plainly  dressed  elderly  couple  on 
foot,  apparently  out  for  a  walk.  Tompkins 
went  hastily  toward  them,  helped  the  lady 
over  the  fence,  the  gentleman  following,  and  a 


TOMPKINS. 


moment  later  I  was  introduced  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Pember,  of  Chicago. 

Tompkins  gathered  some  large  stones,  pulled 
a  board  off  the  fence  in  rather  a  reckless 
manner,  and  fixed  a  seat  for  the  couple  where 
they  could  lean  against  a  tree.  When  they 
were  provided  for,  I  reclined  again,  but  Tomp- 
kins stood  before  us,  talking  and  gesticulat- 
ing. 

"  This,"  said  he,  "  is  the  identical  place, 
Mrs.  Pember.  Here  you  can  see  the  beauties 
I  have  so  often  described.  Before  you  are  the 
town  and  the  lake,  and  beyond  them  the 
mountains  of  Northern  New  York ;  and  (if 
.you  will  please  to  turn  your  head)  that  great 
blue  wall  behind  you,  twenty  miles  away,  is 
composed  of  the  highest  mountains  in  Ver- 
mont. The  mountains  in  front  of  you  are  the 
Adirondacks,  and  those  behind  you  are  the 
Green  Mountains.  You  are  at  the  central 
point  of  this  magnificent  Champlain  Valley ; 
and  you  are  comfortably  seated  here  beneath 
the  shade,  on  this  the  loveliest  day  of  sum- 
mer. Dear  friends,  I  congratulate  you,"  and 


TOMPKINS. 


Tornpkins  shook  Lands  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Pember. 

"And  there,  Timothy,"  observed  the  old 
gentleman,  pointing  at  the  University  build- 
ings with  his  cane,  "is  actually  where  you 
went  to  college." 

"It  was  in  those  memorable  and  classic 
halls,  as  my  classmate  here  can  testify,"  re- 
plied Tompkins.  "  And  here  we  roamed  in 
4  Academus'  sacred  shade,'  and  a  good  deal 
beyond  it.  We  went  fishing  and  boating  dur- 
ing term  time,  and  made  long  trips  to  the 
mountains  in  the  vacations.  In  the  mean  time, 
this  wonderful  valley  was  photographed  upon 
the  white  and  spotless  seiisorium  of  my  youth- 
ful soul." 

"  Going,  going,  going  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Pember, 
with  a  light,  rippling  laugh,  glancing  at  me. 
"  That  is  the  way  I  stop  Mr.  Tompkins  when 
he  gets  too  flowery." 

Tompkins  looked  at  me  and  reddened.  "  I 
own  up,"  he  remarked,  "  I  am  an  auctioneer  in 
Chicago." 

I  hastened  to  say  that  I  felt  sure  he  was  a 


TOMPKINS. 


good  one,  and  added,  in  the  kindest  way  I 
could,  that  I  had  just  been  wondering  how  he 
had  become  such  a  good  talker. 

"Is  it  a  good  deal  of  a  come-down ? "  asked 
Tompkins,  with  a  mixture  of  frankness  and 
embarrassment. 

I  replied  that  the  world  was  not  what  we 
had  imagined  in  our  college  days,  and  that  the 
calling  of  an  auctioneer  was  honorable. 

A  general  conversation  followed,  in  the 
course  of  which  it  appeared  that  Tompkins 
had  boarded  at  the  home  of  the  Pembers  for 
several  years.  They  evidently  looked  upon 
him  almost  as  their  own  son.  They  were 
traveling  with  him  during  his  summer  rest. 

"  This  is  a  queer  world,"  observed  Tomp- 
kins, dropping  down  beside  me,  and  lying  flat 
on  his  back,  with  his  hands  under  his  head. 
"  I  came  to  college  from  a  back  neighborhood 
over  in  York  State,  and  up  to  the  day  I  was 
graduated,  and  for  a  long  time  afterward,  I 
thought  I  must  be  President  of  the  United 
States,  or  a  Presbyterian  minister,  or  a  great 
poet,  or  something  remarkable,  and  here  I  am 
an  auctioneer." 


TOMPKINS. 


Occasional  remarks  were  made  by  the  rest 
of  us  for  a  while,  but  soon  the  talking  was 
mainly  done  by  Tompkins. 

Said  he,  "  Since  I  was  graduated,  I  never 
was  back  here  but  once  before,  and  that  was 
four  years  ago  next  August.  I  was  traveling 
this  way  then,  and  reached  here  Saturday 
evening.  I  was  in  the  pork  business  at  that 
time,  as  a  clerk,  and  had  to  stop  off  here  to 
see  a  man  for  the  firm.  I  put  up  at  the  best 
hotel,  feeling  as  comfortable  and  indifferent 
as  I  ever  did  in  my  life.  There  was  not  the 
shadow  of  an  idea  in  my  mind  of  what  was 
going  to  happen.  On  Sunday  morning  I 
walked  about  town,  and  it  began  to  come 
down  on  me." 

"  What,  the  town?  "  asked  Mrs.  Pember. 

"  No ;  the  strangest  and  most  unaccount- 
able feeling  I  ever  had  in  my  life,"  answered 
Tompkins.  "  It  was  thirteen  years  since  I 
had  said  good-by  to  college.  It  had  long  ago 
become  apparent  to  me  that  the  ideas  with 
which  I  had  graduated  were  visionary  and  im- 
practicable. I  comprehended  that  the  college 


TOMPKINS. 


professors  were  not  the  great  men  I  had  once 
thought  them,  and  that  a  college  president  was 
merely  a  human  being.  I  had  been  hardened 
by  fighting  my  way,  as  a  friendless  young  man 
has  to  do  in  a  great  city.  As  the  confidential 
clerk  of  a  large  pork  house  in  Chicago,  I  felt 
equal  to  the  '  next  man,'  whoever  he  might  be. 
If  a  professor  had  met  me  as  I  got  off  the 
cars  here  Saturday  night,  it  would  have  been 
easy  for  me  to  snub  him.  But  Sunday  morn- 
ing, as  familiar  objects  began  to  appear  in  the 
course  of  my  walk,  the  strange  feeling  of 
which  I  have  spoken  came  over  me.  It  was 
the  feeling  of  old  times.  The  white  clouds, 
the  blue  lake,  this  wonderful  scenery,  thrilled 
me,  and  called  back  the  college  dreams." 

As  he  spoke,  my  old  classmate's  voice  trem- 
bled. 

"  You  may  remember  that  I  used  to  like 
Horace  and  Virgil  and  Homer,"  he  remarked, 
sitting  up,  crossing  his  feet  tailor-fashion,  and 
looking  appealingly  at  me. 

I  replied,  enthusiastically  and  truly,  that  he 
had  been  one  of  our  best  lovers  of  the  poets. 


8  TOMPKINS. 


"  Well,"  continued  Tompkins,  "  that  Sunday 
morning  those  things  began  to  come  back  to 
me.  It  was  n't  exactly  delightful.  My  old 
ambition  to  do  something  great  in  the  world 
awoke  as  if  from  a  long  sleep.  As  I  prolonged 
my  walk  the  old  associations  grew  stronger. 
When  I  came  near  the  college  buildings  it 
seemed  as  if  I  still  belonged  here.  The  hopes 
of  an  ideal  career  were  before  me  as  bright  as 
ever.  The  grand  things  I  was  going  to  do,  the 
volumes  of  poems  and  other  writings  by  Tomp- 
kins, and  his  marvelous  successes  were  as  clear 
as  day.  In  short,  the  whole  thing  was  con- 
jured up  as  if  it  were  a  picture,  just  as  it  used 
to  be  when  I  was  a  student  in  college,  and  it 
was  too  much  for  me." 

Tompkins  seemed  to  be  getting  a  little 
hoarse,  and  his  frank  face  was  very  serious. 

"  Timothy,"  suggested  Mr.  Pember,  "  may 
be  you  could  tell  us  what  that  big  rock  is,  out 
in  the  lake." 

"  Why,  father,  don't  you  remember  ?  That 
is  rock  Dunder,"  said  Mrs.  Pember. 

"I  guess  it  is,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  mus- 
ingly. 


TOMPKINS. 


"  Well,"  resumed  Tompkins,  "  as  I  was  say- 
ing, on  one  side  were  Homer  and  Virgil  and 
Horace  and  Tompkins,  and  on  the  other  was 
pork.  I  cannot  explain  it,  but  somehow  there 
it  was.  The  two  pictures,  thirteen  years  apart, 
were  brought  so  close  together  that  they 
touched.  It  was  something  I  do  not  pretend  to 
understand.  Managing  to  get  by  the  college 
buildings,  I  came  up  to  this  spot  where  we  are 
now.  You  will  infer  that  my  eyes  watered 
badly,  and  to  tell  the  truth  they  did.  Of  course 
it  is  all  very  well,"  explained  Tompkins,  un- 
crossing his  legs,  turning  upon  his  side,  and 
propping  his  head  on  his  hand  again,  —  "of 
course  it  is  all  very  well  to  rake  down  the  col- 
lege, and  say  Alma  Mater  does  n't  amount  to 
anything.  The  boys  all  do  it,  and  they  believe 
what  they  say  for  the  first  five  or  six  years  after 
they  leave  here.  But  we  may  as  well  under- 
stand that  if  we  know  how  to  slight  the  old 
lady,  and  don't  go  to  see  her  for  a  dozen  years, 
she  knows  how  to  punish.  She  had  me  across 
her  knee,  that  Sunday  morning,  in  a  way  that 
I  would  have  thought  impossible.  After  an 


10  TOMPKINS. 


hour  I  controlled  myself,  and  went  back  to  the 
hotel.  I  brushed  my  clothes,  and  started  for 
church,  with  a  lump  in  my  throat  all  the  while. 
My  trim  business  suit  did  n't  seem  so  neat  and 
nobby  as  usual.  The  two  pictures,  the  one  of 
the  poets  and  the  other  of  pork,  were  in  my 
mind.  I  shied  along  the  sidewalk  in  a  ner- 
vous condition,  and  reaching  the  church  with- 
out being  recognized  managed  to  get  a  seat 
near  the  door.  Could  I  believe  my  senses? 
I  knew  that  I  was  changed,  probably  past  all 
recognition,  but  around  me  I  saw  the  faces  of 
my  Burlington  friends  exactly  as  they  had  been 
thirteen  years  before.  I  did  not  understand 
then,  as  I  do  now,  that  a  young  man  in  busi- 
ness in  Chicago  will  become  gray-headed  in 
ten  years,  though  he  might  have  lived  a  quiet 
life  in  Vermont  for  quarter  of  a  century,  with- 
out changing  a  hair." 

"  It  is  the  same  with  horses,"  suggested  Mr. 
Pember.  "  Six  years  on  a  horse-car  in  New 
York  about  uses  up  an  average  horse,  though 
he  would  have  been  good  for  fifteen  years  on  a 
farm." 


TOMPKINS.  11 


"  Exactly,"  said  Tompkins.  "  You  can  im- 
agine how  I  felt  that  Sunday,  with  my  hair 
half  whitewashed." 

"  You  know  I  always  said  you  might  have 
begun  coloring  your  hair,  Timothy,"  said  Mrs. 
Pember  kindly. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Tompkins,  with  an  uneasy 
glance  at  me  ;  "  but  I  did  n't  do  it.  There 
was  one  thing  in  the  church  there,  that  morn- 
ing, that  I  shall  never  have  a  better  chance  to 
tell  of,  and  I  am  going  to  tell  it  now,  while  you 
are  here." 

This  last  sentence  was  addressed  to  me,  and 
my  old  classmate  uttered  the  words  with  a  gen- 
tleness and  frankness  that  brought  back  my 
best  recollections  of  him  in  our  college  days, 
when  he  was  "  little  Tompkins,"  the  warmest- 
hearted  fellow  in  our  class. 

"  Do  you  remember  Lucy  Gary  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  replied  that  I  did,  very  well  indeed ;  and 
the  picture  of  a  youthful  face,  of  Madonna-like 
beauty,  came  out  with  strange  distinctness  from 
the  memories  of  the  past,  as  I  said  it. 

"  Well,  I  saw  Lucy  there,"  continued  Tomp- 


12  TOMPKINS. 


kins,  "  singing  in  the  clioir  in  church,  looking 
just  as  she  did  in  the  long-ago  days  when  we 
used  to  serenade  her.  I  am  willing  to  tell  you 
about  it." 

Tompkins  said  this  in  such  a  confiding  man- 
ner that  I  instinctively  moved  toward  him  and 
took  hold  of  his  hand. 

"  All  right,  classmate,"  he  said,  sitting  up, 
and  looking  me  in  the  eyes  in  a  peculiarly  win- 
ning way  that  had  won  us  all  when  he  was  in 
college. 

"  Why,  boys !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pember, 
with  her  light  laugh. 

Tompkins  found  a  large  stone,  put  it  against 
a  tree,  and  sat  down  on  it,  while  I  reclined  at 
his  feet.  He  said,  — 

"  You  have  asked  me,  Mrs.  Pember,  very 
often,  about  the  people  up  here,  and  now  I  will 
tell  you  about  some  of  them.  Do  you  notice 
that  mountain  away  beyond  the  lake,  in  be- 
hind the  others,  so  that  you  can  see  only  the 
top,  which  is  shaped  like  a  pyramid  ?  That  is 
old  Whiteface,  and  it  is  more  than  forty  miles 
from  here.  It  used  to  be  understood  that  there 


TOMPK1NS.  13 


was  nothing  whatever  over  there  except  woods 
and  rocks  and  bears  and  John  Brown.  But 
the  truth  is,  right  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
in  the  valley  on  this  side,  there  is  a  little  vil- 
lage called  Wilmington,  and  it  is  the  centre  of 
the  world.  Lucy  Gary  and  I  were  born  there. 
It  was  not  much  of  a  village  then,  and  it  is 
about  the  same  now.  There  was  no  church, 
and  no  store,  and  no  hotel,  in  my  time  ;  there 
were  only  half  a  dozen  dwelling-houses,  and  a 
blacksmith  shop,  and  a  man  who  made  shoes. 
Lucy  lived  in  the  house  next  to  ours.  Her 
father  was  the  man  who  made  shoes.  Lucy 
and  I  picked  berries  and  rambled  about  with 
Rover,  the  dog,  from  the  time  we  were  little. 
Of  course  you  will  naturally  think  there  is 
something  romantic  coming,  but  there  is  not. 
We  were  just  a  couple  of  children  playing  to- 
gether ;  and  we  studied  together  as  we  grew 
older.  They  made  a  great  deal  of  studying 
and  schooling  over  there.  They  had  almost  as 
much  respect  for  learning  then  in  Wilmington 
as  they  have  now  among  the  White  Mountains, 
where  they  will  not  allow  any  waiters  at  the 
hotels  who  cannot  talk  Greek. 


14  TOMPKINS. 


"  It  was  quite  an  affair  when  Lucy  and  I 
left  Wilmington  and  came  to  Burlington. 
The  departure  of  two  inhabitants  was  a  loss  to 
the  town.  It  was  not  equal  to  the  Chicago  fire, 
but  it  was  an  important  event.  I  went  to  col- 
lege, and  Lucy  came  over  the  lake  to  work  in 
a  woolen  factory.  There  is  where  she  worked," 
pointing  to  the  beautiful  little  village  of  Wi- 
nooski,  a  mile  away  behind  us,  in  the  green 
valley  of  Onion  River. 

"  And  she  had  to  work  there  for  a  living, 
while  you  went  to  college?"  asked  Mrs.  Pem- 
ber. 

"  That  was  it,"  said  Tompkins.  "  We  used 
to  serenade  her  sometimes,  with  the  rest ;  but 
she  seemed  to  think  it  was  not  exactly  the 
right  thing  for  a  poor  factory  girl,  and  so  we 
gave  it  up.  I  used  to  see  her  occasionally,  but 
somehow  there  grew  up  a  distance  between  us." 

"  How  was  that?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Pember. 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,"  answered  Tomp- 
kins, "  I  think  my  college  ideas  had  too  much 
to  do  with  it.  I  did  not  see  it  at  the  time,  but 
it  has  come  over  me  lately.  When  a  young 


TOMPKINS.  15 


chap  gets  his  head  full  of  new  ideas,  he  is  very 
likely  to  forget  the  old  ones." 

"  You  did  not  mean  to  do  wrong,  I  am  sure," 
said  Mrs.  Pember. 

"  The  excuse  I  have,"  continued  Tompkins, 
"  is  that  I  had  to  work  and  scrimp  and  suffer 
so  myself,  to  get  along  and  pay  my  way,  that 
I  hardly  thought  of  anything  except  my  studies 
and  how  to  meet  my  expenses.  Then  there 
was^hat  dream  of  doing  some  great  thing  in 
the  world.  I  taught  the  district  school  in 
Wilmington  three  months  during  my  Sopho- 
more year  to  get  money  to  go  on  with,  and  I 
think  that  helped  to  make  me  ambitious.  It 
was  the  sincere  conviction  of  the  neighborhood 
over  there  that  I  would  be  president  of  the 
college  or  of  the  United  States.  I  do  not  think 
they  would  have  conceded  that  there  was  much 
difference  in  the  two  positions.  I  felt  that  I 
would  be  disgraced  if  I  did  not  meet  their  ex- 
pectations. By  one  of  those  coincidences  which 
seemed  to  follow  our  fortunes,  Lucy  made  a 
long  visit  home  when  I  was  teaching  in  Wil- 
mington. She  was  one  of  my  pupils.  She  was 


16  TOMPKINS. 


a  quiet  little  lady,  and  hardly  spoke^  a  loud 
word,  that  I  remember,  all  winter." 

"Did  you  try  to  talk  to  her,  Timothy?" 
asked  Mrs.  Pember. 

"  I  do  not  claim  .  that  I  did,"  answered 
Tompkins.  "  I  was  studying  hard  to  keep  up 
with  my  class,  and  that  was  the  reason.  But 
I  wish  I. had  paid  more  attention  to  Lucy  Gary 
that  winter.  I  would  not  have  you  think  there 
was  anything  particular  between  Lucy  anct  me. 
It  was  not  that." 

"  We  will  think  just  what  we  please,"  inter- 
rupted Mrs.  Pember,  in  a  serious  tone. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  narrator,  "  it  would 
be  absurd  to  suppose  there  was  any  such  thing." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  "  You  had  better 
tell  the  rest  of  the  story,  Timothy,"  said  the 
old  gentleman,  persuasively. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  responded  Tompkins.  "  After 
I  came  back  to  college  I  got  along  better  than 
before  I  had  taught.  The  money  I  received 
for  teaching  helped  me,  and  another  thing 
aided  me.  The  folks  in  Wilmington  found 
out  how  a  poor  young  man  works  to  get  through 


TO  MP  KINS.  17 


college.  Some  of  us  used  to  live  on  a  dollar  a 
week  apiece,  and  board  ourselves  in  our  rooms, 
down  there  in  the  buildings  ;  and  we  were 
doing  the  hardest  kind  of  studying  at  the  same 
time.  We  would  often  club  together,  one  do- 
ing the  cooking  for  five  or  six.  The  cook  would 
get  off  without  paying.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
delightful  things  in  the  world  to  see  a  tall 
young  man  in  a  calico  dressing-gown  come  out 
on  the  green,  where  we  would  be  playing  foot- 
ball, and  make  the  motions  of  beating  an  imagi- 
nary gong  for  dinner.  In  order  to  appreciate 
it,  you  need  to  work  hard  and  play  hard  and 
live  on  the  slimmest  kind  of  New  England  fare. 
But  there  is  one  thing  even  better  than  that. 
To  experience  the  most  exquisite  delight  ever 
known  by  a  Burlington  student,  you  ought  to 
have  an  uncle  Jason.  While  I  was  teaching 
in  Wilmington,  my  uncle  Jason,  from  North 
Elba,  which  was  close  by,  came  there.  When 
he  found  out  what  an  important  man  I  was, 
and  how  I  was  fighting  my  way,  he  sympathized 
wonderfully.  He  was  not  on  good  terms  at 
our  house,  but  he  called  at  my  school,  and 


18  TOMPKINS. 


almost  cried  over  me.  He  was  not  a  man  of 
much  learning,  but  he  looked  upon  those  who 
were  educated  as  a  superior  order  of  beings.  I 
was  regarded  in  the  neighborhood  as  a  sort  of 
martyr  to  science,  a  genius  who  was  working 
himself  to  death.  I  was  the  only  public  man 
ever  produced  by  the  settlement  up  to  that 
date.  It  was  part  of  the  religion  of  the  place 
to  look  upon  me  as  something  unusual,  and 
uncle  Jason  shared  the  general  feeling.  I 
could  see,  as  he  sat  there  in  the  school-house 
observing  the  school,  that  he  was  very  proud 
of  me.  Before  leaving,  he  called  me  into 
the  entry  and  gave  me  a  two-dollar  bill.  It 
was  generous,  for  he  was  a  poor  man,  and 
had  his  wife  and  children  to  support.  It 
brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes  when  he  handed 
me  the  money,  and  told  me  I  was  the  flower  of 
the  family  and  the  pride  of  the  settlement.  I 
felt  as  if  I  would  rather  die  than  fail  of  ful- 
filling the  expectations  of  my  friends.  There 
was  great  delight  in  it,  and  it  was  an  inex- 
pressible joy  to  know  that  my  relatives  and 
the  neighbors  cared  so  much  for  me. 


TOMPKINS.  19 


"  To  comprehend  this  thing  fully,  Mrs.  Pem- 
ber,  you  ought  to  be  in  college,  and  when  you 
are  getting  hard  up,  and  see  no  way  but  to 
leave,  get  letters,  as  I  did  from  uncle  Jason, 
with  five  or  six  dollars  at  a  time  in  them. 
Such  a  trifle  would  carry  you  through  to  the 
end  of  the  term,  and  save  your  standing  in  the 
class.  If  you  were  a  Burlington  college  boy, 
while  you  might  be  willing  to  depart  this  life 
in  an  honorable  manner,  you  would  not  be  will- 
ing to  lose  your  mark  and  standing  as  a  student. 
You  would  regard  the  consequences  of  such  a 
disaster  as  very  damaging  to  your  character, 
and  certain  to  remain  with  you  forever. 

"  I  may  as  well  say,  while  it  is  on  my  mind, 
that  I  do  think  this  matter  of  education  is  a 
little  overdone  in  this  part  of  the  country.  A 
young  man  is  not  the  centre  of  the  universe 
merely  because  he  is  a  college  student,  or  a 
graduate,  and  it  is  not  worth  while  to  scare 
him  with  any  such  idea.  The  only  way  he  can 
meet  the  expectation  of  his  friends,  under  such 
circumstances,  is  to  get  run  over  accidentally 
by  the  cars.  That  completes  his  martyrdom, 


20  TOMPKINS. 


and  affords  his  folks  an  opportunity  to  boast 
of  what  he  would  have  been  if  he  had  lived." 

"  Tell  us  more  about  Lucy,"  said  Mrs.  Pem- 
ber. 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  replied  Tompkins.  "  Lucy 
had  a  wonderful  idea  of  poetry  and  writing. 
It  is  really  alarming  to  a  stranger  to  see  the 
feeling  there  is  up  here  in  that  way.  The  im- 
pression prevails  generally  that  a  writer  is  su- 
perior to  all  other  people  on  earth.  I  remember 
to  have  heard  that  one  of  our  class,  a  year  after 
we  were  graduated,  started  a  newspaper  back 
here  about  ten  miles,  on  the  bank  of  the  Onion 
River.  He  might  just  as  well  have  started  it 
under  a  sage  bush  out  on  the  alkali  plains.  He 
gave  it  some  queer  Greek  name,  and  I  heard 
that  the  publication  was  first  semi- weekly,  then 
weekly,  and  then  very  weakly  indeed,  until  it 
came  to  a  full  stop  at  the  end  of  six  months. 
It  would  have  been  ridiculous  anywhere  else  ; 
but  being  an  attempt  at  literature,  I  suppose 
it  was  looked  upon  here  as  respectable." 

"  And  did  you  use  to  write  poetry  ?  "  que- 
ried Mrs.  Pember. 


TOMPKINS.  21 


"  Not  to  any  dangerous  extent,"  replied 
Tompkins.  "  I  do  not  deny  that  I  tried  while 
in  college,  but  I  reformed  when  I  went  West. 
I  think  uncle  Jason  always  had  an  idea  that  it 
might  be  better  for  me  to  be  Daniel  Webster. 
He  stood  by  me  after  I  left  college,  and  for 
three  years  I  continued  to  get  those  letters, 
with  five  or  six  dollars  at  a  time  in  them.  They 
kept  me  from  actual  suffering  sometimes,  before 
I  got  down  off  my  stilts,  and  went  to  work, 
like  an  honest  man,  in  the  pork  business." 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  tell  us  some- 
thing about  that  girl,"  suggested  Mrs.  Pember. 

"  Yes,  I  was,"  rejoined  Tompkins.  "  When 
I  saw  Lucy  here,  four  years  ago,  in  the  gallery 
with  the  singers,  I  felt  as  if  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  me  to  face  her  and  talk  with  her. 
She  would  not  have  known  me,  for  one  thing. 
When  I  was  a  brown -haired  boy,  making 
poetry  and  being  a  martyr,  and  doing  sere- 
nading, and  living  on  codfish  and  crackers 
and  soup,  I  could  meet  Lucy  with  a  grand  air 
that  made  her  shudder ;  but,  as  I  sat  there  in 
church,  gray  and  worn,  I  dreaded  to  catch  her 


22  TOMPKINS. 


eye,  or  have  her  see  me.  Although  there  was 
not  three  years'  difference  in  our  ages,  yet  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  was  very  old,  while  she 
was  still  blooming.  Then  there  was  the  feel- 
ing that  I  had  not  become  a  great  poet,  or 
orator,  or  anything  really  worth  while.  On 
the  contrary,  I  was  just  nobody.  It  seemed 
like  attending  my  own  funeral.  I  felt  dis- 
graced. Of  course  it  was  not  all  true.  I  had 
been  a  good,  square,  honest,  hard-working 
man." 

"  Yes,  you  had  indeed,  Timothy,"  assented 
Mrs.  Pember,  with  an  emphatic  nod. 

"  Yes  indeed,  I  had,"  repeated  Tompkins, 
his  chin  quivering.  "  It  was  not  the  thing  for 
a  fair-minded  man  to  think  so  poorly  of  him- 
self ;  but  I  was  alone,  and  the  old  associations 
and  the  solemn  services  were  very  impressive. 
There  was  Lucy  in  the  choir;  she  always 
could  sing  like  a  nightingale.  When  I  heard 
her  voice  again,  it  overcame  me.  I  did  not 
hear  much  of  the  sermon.  I  think  it  was 
something  about  temptation  and  the  sugges- 
tions of  the  evil  one ;  but  I  am  not  sure,  for 


TOMPKINS.  23 


I  had  my  head  down  on  the  back  of  the  pew 
in  front  of  me  most  of  the  time.     I  had  to 
fight  desperately  to  control  my  feelings.     One 
minute  I  would  think  that  as  soon  as  the  ser- 
vices closed  I  would  rush  around  and  shake 
hands  with  my  old  acquaintances,  and  the  next 
minute  would  be  doing  my  best  to  swallow  the 
lump  in  my  throat.     It  was  as  tough  a  sixty 
minutes  as  I  ever  passed.     But  finally  the  ser- 
vices were  ended.     I  felt  that  it  was  plainly 
my  duty  to  stop  in  the  porch  and  claim  the 
recognition  of  my  friends.     I  did  pause,  and 
try  for  a  few  seconds  to  collect  myself ;  but 
the  lump  grew  bigger  and  choked  me,  while 
the   tears   would  flow.     Besides  that,  as  the 
adversary  just  then,  in  the  meanest  possible 
manner,  suggested  to  my  soul,  there  was  that 
pork.     I  knew  I  would  have  to  tell  of  it  if  I 
stopped.     But   I  did  not  stop;    I   retreated. 
When  I  reached  my  room  in  the  hotel  I  felt 
a  longing  to  get  out  of  town.     Fortunately,  I 
could  not  leave  on  Sunday.     So  in  the  after- 
noon I  sat  with  the  landlord  on  his  broad  front 
platform,  or  piazza.     It  was  not  the  person 


24  TOMPKINS. 


who  keeps  the  place  now,  but  one  of  the  oldest 
inhabitants,  who  knew  all  about  the  Burling- 
ton people.  He  guessed  that  I  was  a  college 
boy;  he  thought  he  remembered  something 
about  my  appearance.  I  did  not  mind  talking 
freely  with  a  landlord,  for  hotels  and  boarding- 
houses  had  been  my  home  in  Chicago.  I  had 
always  been  a  single  man,  just  as  I  am  to  this 
day.  This  landlord  was  a  good- hearted  old 
chap,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  talk  with  him. 
While  we  were  sitting  there,  who  should  come 
along  the  street  but  Lucy,  with  a  book  in  her 
hand.  She  was  on  the  opposite  sidewalk,  and 
did  not  look  up.  She  would  not  look  at  a 
hotel  on  Sunday.  I  asked  the  landlord  about 
her,  and  he  told  me  all  there  was  to  tell.  She 
was  living  in  one  end  of  a  little  wooden  cot- 
tage over  toward  Winooski,  another  factory 
woman  occupying  the  other  part  of  the  house. 
They  made  a  home  together.  The  landlord 
said  Lucy  was  an  excellent  woman,  and  might 
have  married  one  of  the  overseers  in  the  fac- 
tory any  time  she  chose  for  years  back,  but 
that  she  preferred  a  single  life. 


TOMPKINS.  25 


"  When  I  got  back  to  Chicago  I  kept  think- 
ing about  Lucy  Gary.  The  old  times  when  we 
used  to  live  in  Wilmington  came  back  to  my 
mind.  The  truth  of  it  was,  I  was  getting 
along  a  little,  at  last,  in  Chicago  in  the  way 
of  property,  and  I  found  myself  all  the  while 
planning  how  I  could  have  Lucy  Gary  near 
me." 

"  Did  you  want  to  marry  her,  Timothy  ?  " 
inquired  Mrs.  Pember. 

"  It  was  not  that,"  he  replied ;  "  but  I 
wanted  to  become  acquainted  with  her  again. 
I  knew  she  was  the  best  girl  I  had  ever  seen. 
She  always  was  just  as  good  and  pious  as  any- 
body could  be.  We  were  like  brother  and 
sister,  almost,  when  young ;  and  when  I 
thought  of  home  and  my  folks  and  old  Wil- 
mington and  the  college  days,  somehow  Lucy 
was  the  centre  of  it  all.  In  fact,  almost 
everything  else  was  gone.  My  folks  were 
scattered,  and  Lucy  and  uncle  Jason  were 
nearly  the  only  persons  up  this  way  that  I 
could  lay  claim  to.  There  is  a  kind  of  lone- 
some streak  comes  over  a  man  when  he  has 


26  TOMPKINS. 


been  grinding  away  in  a  great  city  for  a  good 
many  years,  and  comes  back  to  the  old  places, 
and  sees  them  so  fresh  and  green  and  quiet, 
and  he  can't  get  over  it.  He  will  cling  to 
anything  that  belongs  to  old  times.  I  was 
strongly  influenced  to  write  to  Lucy,  but 
finally  I  did  not.  I  determined  that  I  would 
get  all  I  could  for  two  or  three  years,  and  then 
I  would  come  here  and  face  things.  I  would 
get  something  comfortable,  and  would  have 
a  place  I  could  call  my  own  in  Chicago. 
Then,  when  I  had  it  fixed,  I  would  come  and 
see  uncle  Jason  and  Lucy,  and  stand  the 
racket.  Of  course  it  was  nonsense  to  feel  shy, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  not  say  a 
word  until  I  had  sometLing  to  brag  of.  They 
knew,  in  a  general  kind  of  way,  that  I  was  in 
Chicago,  dealing  in  pork,  or  doing  auctioneer- 
ing or  something,  and  that  was  as  much  humil- 
iation as  I  could  endure.  To  be  sure,  it  was 
nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,  for  I  had  been  an 
honest,  faithful  man ;  but  to  come  back  to  my 
friends  empty-handed,  without  money  or  fame, 
and  gray -headed  at  that,  was  more  than  I 


TOMPKINS.  27 


could  stand.  If  I  had  had  anything  or  been 
anything,  just  to  take  the  edge  off,  I  could 
have  managed  it.  As  it  was,  I  looked  ahead 
and  worked.  If  any  man  in  Chicago  has 
tried  and  planned  and  toiled  during  the  last 
three  years,  I  am  that  man.  There  has  been 
a  picture  before  my  mind  of  a  pleasant  home 
there." 

"  And  have  you  calculated  to  marry  Lucy 
Gary  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Pember,  in  an  eager 
voice. 

"Perhaps  it  was  not  just  in  that  way  I 
thought  of  it,"  replied  the  narrator,  very 
seriously.  "  You  know  I  told  you  that  the 
landlord  said  she  preferred  a  single  life." 

"  Timothy  Toinpkins,"  exclaimed  the  old 
lady  apprehensively,  "  don't  deny  it,  —  don't ! 
*fhink  how  dreadfully  you  will  feel  if  you 
know  you  have  told  a  lie  ! " 

"  It  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,  Timothy," 
said  Mr.  Pember,  in  a  kind  and  sympathetic 
voice. 

"  If  you  put  it  in  that  way,"  answered  my 
old  classmate,  in  strangely  mournful  tones, 


28  TOMPKINS. 


"  all  I  can  say  is,  there  was  never  anything 
between  us,  —  nothing  at  all." 

"  And  did  you  come  here  this  time  to  see 
her  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Pember,  almost  starting 
from  her  seat,  and  with  the  thrill  of  a  sudden 
guess  in  her  voice. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  as  much  that  as  any- 
thing," replied  Tompkins  doggedly,  looking 
down,  and  poking  with  a  short  stick  in  the 
ground  at  his  feet. 

"  And  that  is  what  has  made  you  act  so 
queer,"  mused  Mrs.  Pember.  "  Have  you  seen 
her?" 

"  Let  him  tell  the  story,  Caroline,"  urged 
the  old  gentleman  peevishly. 

Tompkins  looked  gloomily  out  upon  the  lake 
and  the  broad  landscape  for  a  few  moments ; 
and  then,  resuming  his  narrative,  said,  — 

"As  I  was  saying,  I  have  worked  hard,  and 
have  got  a  nice  little  pile.  I  am  worth  thirty- 
five  thousand  dollars.  When  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  come  East  this  summer,  the  money  to 
pay  uncle  Jason  for  what  he  had  done  was  all 
ready.  It  made  me  choke  to  think  how  long 


TOMPKINS.  29 


I  had  let  it  run.  I  figured  it  up  as  near  as  I 
could,  —  the  two  hundred  that  came  to  me  in 
college,  and  the  two  hundred  after  that ;  and 
I  put  in  the  simple  interest  at  seven  per  cent., 
according  to  the  York  State  law,  which  brought 
the  sum  total  up  to  nearly  nine  hundred  ;  and 
to  fix  it  all  right  I  made  it  an  even  thousand 
dollars.  Then  I  bought  a  new  buckskin  bag, 
and  went  to  a  bank  in  Chicago  and  got  the 
money  all  in  gold.  I  knew  that  would  please 
uncle  Jason.  He  once  talked  of  going  to  Cal- 
ifornia to  dig.  I  suppose  he  had  never  seen  a 
pile  of  the  real  yellow  coin  in  his  life.  I  wrote 
to  him  that  I  was  to  be  in  Burlington,  and  that 
I  would  be  ever  so  glad  if  he  would  come  over 
and  see  me.  I  met  him  yesterday  afternoon, 
as  he  got  off  the  boat,  down  at  the  steamboat 
landing.  He  knew  me,  and  I  knew  him,  al- 
though we  were  both  changed  a  good  deal. 
After  we  had  talked  a  little,  and  got  used  to 
each  other,  I  took  him  up  to  my  room  in  the 
hotel.  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  at  the  business 
part  of  my  visit  with  him  first ;  for  it  seemed 
to  me  that  it  would  be  better  to  let  hint  see,  to 


30  TOMPKTNS. 


begin  with,  that  I  was  not  exactly  poor,  nor 
such  an  ungrateful  cub  as  may  be  he  had 
thought  I  was.  It  was  my  resolve  that  before 
we  talked  of  anything  else  I  would  get  that 
money  off  my  conscience.  I  knew  that  then  I 
could  hold  up  my  head,  and  discuss  our  neigh- 
borhood and  old  times,  and  it  would  be  plain 
sailing  for  me.  I  had  pictured  to  my  mind  a 
dozen  times  how  uncle  Jason  would  look  with 
that  new  yellow  buckskin  bag  crammed  with 
gold  on  his  knee,  steadying  it  with  his  hand 
and  talking  to  me.  So  when  I  got  him  up  to 
my  room,  and  seated  him  in  a  chair,  I  began 
the  performance.  I  got  red  in  the  face,  and 
spluttered,  and  flourished  round  with  the  bag 
and  the  gold ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  fully  ex- 
pected to  make  the  old  man's  hair  rise  right 
up.  But  it  did  not  work.  He  got  shaky  and 
trembled,  and  somehow  did  not  seem  to  want 
the  money  at  all,  and  finally  owned  how  it  was. 
He  said  that  he  had  never  given  me  a  cent ;  it 
was  all  Lucy  Gary's  doing.  And  she  had  made 
him  promise,  on  his  everlasting  Bible  oath,  as 
he  called  it,  that  he  would  not  tell.  She  had 


TOMPKINS.  31 


put  him  up  to  the  whole  thing  ;  even  that  first 
two-dollar  bill  had  come  from  her  wages." 

My  old  classmate  ceased  speaking.  He  was 
becoming  flushed  and  excited.  He  gazed  ab- 
stractedly at  the  broad  blue  mirror  of  old 
Champlain,  upon  which  he  and  I  had  looked 
together  so  often  in  the  days  of  our  youth. 

Mr.  Pember  sat  silently.  Mrs.  Pember  was 
whimpering  behind  her  handkerchief. 

I  ventured  the  inquiry,  "  Have  you  seen 
Lucy  yet  ?  " 

Tompkins'  face  quivered  ;  he  was  silent. 

Mrs.  Pember 's  interest  in  the  question  re- 
stored her.  "  Tell  us,  have  you  seen  her  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  heard  of  it  yesterday,"  Tompkins  replied 
huskily,  with  an  effort. 

"  Why,  Timothy,  what  is  the  matter?"  cried 
Mrs.  Pember,  rising  from  her  seat  and  coming 
to  him,  as  he  bent  his  head  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands.  The  motherly  woman  took  off 
his  soft  hat,  and  stroking  his  hair  said,  "  You 
had  better  tell ;  it  will  do  you  good."  And 
then  she  put  his  hat  on  again,  and  stood  wiping 


32  TOMPKINS. 


her  eyes  in  sympathy,  while  he  struggled  with 
himself. 

The  storm  of  feeling  passed  away,  and  Tomp- 
kins,  having  gained  control  of  his  emotions, 
slowly  lifted  his  face  from  his  hands,  and  sat 
peering  out  under  his  hat  brim,  looking  appar- 
ently at  a  boat  upon  the  lake.  At  last  he  said 
in  a  calm  voice,  "  She  is  dead." 

It  was  very  still  after  this  announcement. 
The  softest  breath  of  June  scarcely  whispered 
in  the  pines  overhead,  and  the  vast  landscape 
below  seemed  strangely  at  rest  in  the  fervid 
brightness  of  the  summer  noon. 

My  old  classmate  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence. 

"  Well,"  said  he  wearily,  "  it  must  be  about 
time  for  dinner  ;  let  us  go  to  the  hotel." 

We  took  the  little  brown  road,  and  walked 
down  a  long,  shaded,  quiet  street.  Memories 
of  college  days  and  romantic  summer  nights, 
with  music  and  starlight,  and  the  long,  long 
thoughts  of  youth  came  back  to  me,  as  I  looked 
at  the  houses  and  gardens  familiar  in  college 
days,  and  chatted  about  them  with  Mrs.  Pem- 
ber. 


TOMPKINS.  33 


"  Timothy  always  means  well,"  said  she  to 
me  confidentially,  reverting  to  the  subject  of 
which  we  were  all  thinking,  "  but  it  was  very 
wrong  for  him  to  neglect  that  poor  factory 
girl ;  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 


34 
RUBE  JONES. 

IE  was  a  fine,  large  man,  with  wavy 
white  hair  and  blue  eyes.  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  a  better  specimen  of 
genuine  white  oak.  It  was  a  winter  evening 
in  January,  1864,  and  we  were  at  widow  Mor- 
gan's in  Chapel  Street,  Albany.  Jones  and  I 
were  the  only  boarders.  We  were  sitting  with 
Mrs.  Morgan  in  the  cosy  front  parlor,  before 
an  open-grate  fire. 

"Fact  is,"  said  Jones,  continuing  the  con- 
versation, "  this  is  not  my  first  visit  to  Albany. 
I  was  here  when  I  was  eighteen  years  old ;  I 
came  then  from  my  home  in  New  Hampshire 
to  find  work.  They  were  building  the  Capitol 
(which  you  now  call  the  old  Capitol,  because 
you  talk  of  having  a  new  one),  and  I  worked 
on  the  building.  I  do  not  mind  telling  you 
that  some  things  happened  to  me  that  year  in 


RUBE  JONES.  35 


this  city  which  I  have  never  felt  quite  right 
about,  and  I  came  here  three  weeks  ago  to  look 
at  the  old  landmarks  and  review  my  youth,  as 
you  may  say.  Of  course  you  two  have  won- 
dered what  I  have  been  looking  about  Albany 
for,  and  perhaps  it  will  be  as  well  for  me  to 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  We  do  not  urge  it,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"Well,  have  it  that  I  am  anxious  to  tell,  if 
you  want  to,"  said  the  narrator  sharply.  "  Fact 
is,  it  was  my  first  experience  away  from  home, 
when  I  came  here,  so  long  ago.  Albany  was 
just  a  neat,  queer  Dutch  place  then.  The 
houses  were  for  all  the  world  like  those  sharp 
old  wooden  hen-coops  we  had  in  New  Hamp- 
shire. When  I. got  my  first  sight  of  the  place, 
that  comparison  occurred  to  me.  And  all 
around,  on  the  sandy  hills  and  in  the  hollows, 
were  pine-trees  and  wild-briars  and  evergreens. 
And  this  beautiful  verdure  was  profusely  be- 
spangled with  the  wild  rose." 

"  Please  don't  get  flowery,  Mr.  Jones,"  said 
Mrs.  Morgan  softly,  with  a  slow,  delicious  utter- 
ance. 


36  RUBE  JONES. 


"  I  will  try  to  avoid  it,  by  special  request," 
replied  Mr.  Jones  ;  "  but  I  wish  both  of  you 
to  understand  how  fine  it  was.  All  along  the 
river  were  stately  elms  and  lines  of  willows, 
and  there  was  the  greenest  grass  in  the  world. 
There  were  no  railroads,  or  excavations,  or 
dumping  grounds,  or  decayed  cabbages  on  the 
island,  or  dead  cats  in  the  river,  Everything 
was  just  as  neat  and  smooth  and  pretty  as  a  pic- 
ture on  an  old  fashioned  piece  of  china  ware. 

"Well,  the  way  all  this  comes  in,"  continued 
Jones,  "  is  this.  It  was  a  wonderfully  good 
place  for  a  young  fellow  to  go  wandering  around 
with  his  girl.  And  days  when  I  was  off  work 
I  used  to  wander ;  and  evenings  too,  for  that 
matter.  It  is  just  impossible  to  tell  you  of  the 
delightful  hours  I  enjoyed  with  little  Blandie, 
the  girl  I  cared  so  much  for,  and  the  dear  little 
creature  who  I  am  sure  cared  for  me." 

"  Mr.  Jones,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  with  a  mis- 
chievous smile,  "  if  you  are  going  to  be  senti- 
mental, I  cannot  give  my  time  to  it ;  really,  I 
cannot."  And  Mrs.  Morgan  took  her  work 
from  her  lap  and  resumed  her  needle. 


RUBE  JONES.  37 


"  Go  on  with  your  sewing,  madam,"  said  Mr. 
Jones  tartly.  "  I  will  try  not  to  disturb  you. 
As  I  was  saying,  sir,  when  the  lady  inter- 
rupted," he  went  on,  turning  to  me,  "my  en- 
joyment of  that  spring  and  summer  was  be- 
yond what  I  can  explain.  I  doubt  not  that  at 
your  age  you  will  comprehend  something  of  it" 
(with  a  deprecating  glance  toward  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan, as  if  she  were  too  old  to  understand).  "It 
was  the  golden  summer,  the  culmination  of  my 
life.  But  there  came  a  cloud.  In  those  days  it 
required  about  a  week  to  travel  from  New  York 
to  Albany.  The  man  who  had  seen  New  York 
had  something  to  boast  of,  and  any  New  Yorker 
was  a  person  of  distinction,  when  he  came  to 
this  city.  In  July,  two  men  came  here  from 
New  York.  One  of  them  won,  or  seemed  to 
win,  little  Blandie  away  from  me.  It  was  not 
the  older  one,  whose  name  was  Dudley,  but  it 
was  the  young  fellow,  Harry.  I  was  just  a 
poor  working-lad,  but  Harry  was  a  gentleman 
from  New  York  ;  what  could  I  do  ?  It  may  be 
that  you,  my  dear  young  friend,  have  never 
passed  through  what  I  suffered,  and  I  hope  you 


38  RUBE  JONES. 


never  have  and  never  will.  It  just  hurt  me 
deep  down  in  my  heart,  One  thing  about  it 
was,  I  could  not  blame  Blandie  much.  She 
was  always  so  good,  and  so  kind,  and  so  yield- 
ing !  Very  likely  it  was  her  mother,  more  than 
it  was  Blandie,  who  encouraged  him.  We  had 
not  been  engaged,  although  I  knew  I  would 
have  died  for  her,"  said  Jones  huskily,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  and  his  handsome  face  flushed. 

Mrs.  Morgan  stopped  sewing,  and  looked  at 
the  narrator. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  story-teller,  "the 
short  of  it  was,  I  could  do  nothing.  If  I  do 
say  it,  the  honest  heart  of  a  poor  country  boy 
had  been  cruelly  wounded.  It  was  hard  getting 
through  the  days,  when  I  felt  the  life  going  out 
of  me,  as  if  the  blood  were  oozing,  drip,  drip, 
drip,  from  the  wound  in  my  heart.  I  resolved 
to  leave  Albany.  My  old  home  among  the 
Granite  Hills  had  been  broken  up,  and  I  had 
only  the  wide  world  before  me.  I  determined  to 
go  to  New  York.  Two  days  before  I  started, 
I  sent  a  boy  with  a  polite  little  letter  to  Blandie's 
house,  saying  I  was  going  away,  and  bidding 


RUBE  JONES.  39 


her  good-by.  She  knew  where  I  boarded,  and 
I  hoped  she  might  send  me  a  good-by,  too,  but 
she  never  did.  I  have  always  thought  her 
mother  kept  my  letter  from  Blandie.  How- 
ever it  was,  on  a  day  in  August  I  got  on  board 
a  sloop  leaving  Albany,  and  started  to  work  my 
passage  to  New  York,  feeling  more  dreadfully 
sad  and  lonely  than  can  be  told." 

"  And  did  n't  you  hear  from  Blandie  ?  "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Morgan,  with  eager  interest. 

"  Not  a  word,  madam,"  replied  Mr.  Jones, 
—  "  not  a  single  word.  And  the  three  or  four 
days  following  my  departure  from  this  city 
were  the  most  miserable  I  ever  experienced. 
I  tried  to  blame  the  dear  girl,  but  couldn't, 
not  to  amount  to  anything ;  and  then  I  tried 
to  blame  myself.  The  wonders  of  the  Hud- 
son River  and  the  great  world  into  which  I 
was  going,  and  about  which  I  felt  dreadfully 
frightened  whenever  I  thought  of  it,  helped  to 
lift  her  off  my  heart  a  little,  as  we  sailed  down 
the  stream. 

"  Let  me  see,"  continued  Mr.  Jones,  reflect- 
ing. "  We  started  from  Albany  on  Thursday, 


40  RUBE  JONES. 


and  it  was* on  the  Monday  night  following  that 
we  got  the  great  scare.  We  were  just  about 
entering  the  Highlands,  and  it  was  near  eleven 
o'clock  at  night.  There  was  a  little  breeze  di- 
rectly down  the  river.  Suddenly  there  came 
around  the  bend  in  the  stream,  just  below  us, 
something  so  terrible  that  we  were  all  nearly 
scared  to  death,  as  you  may  say.  You  may 
have  read,  Mrs.  Morgan,  of  the  strange  spec- 
tres in  the  form  of  ships,  that  sailors  tell  of, 
which  haunt  the  seas.  This  was  one  of  those 
spectre  ships.  It  was,  however,  much  more 
terrible  and  substantial  than  you  can  imagine. 
It  came  right  on,  against  the  wind,  as  no  vessel 
could  sail,  and  its  glare  was  unearthly.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  our  captain  looked  in  that 
strange  light,  as  he  stood,  ghastly  and  trem- 
bling, facing  it.  We  fell  upon  our  knees  in 
supplication,  as  it  passed  us ;  and  with  a  ter- 
rible roaring  sound  it  moved  away  up  the  river. 
It  was,  in  fact,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  with 
great  emphasis,  turning  toward  the  lady  as  he 
spoke,  —  "it  was,  in  fact,  Fulton's  steamboat 
on  that  first  trip  up  the  river,  in  August,  1807." 


RUBE  JONES.  41 


"  Oh,  Mr.  Jones,  why  did  n't  you  tell  it  that 
way  first,  and  not  try  to  make  me  nervous  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  I  only  told  it  just  as  it  was,"  replied  Jones 
curtly.  "Fact  is,  we  knew  nothing  about  such 
a  thing  as  a  steamboat ;  had  n't  even  imagined 
there  could  be  such  a  thing.  I  venture  to  say 
there  were  not  ten  people  along  the  Hudson 
River  who  had  ever  even  heard  of  a  steam- 
engine.  I  know,  when  we  got  to  New  York, 
the  commonest  inquiry  was  how  the  vapor 
could  possibly  make  the  wheels  go  round.  We 
had  never  known  of  anything  of  the  sort,  and 
thought  the  steam  was  turned  on  loose  some 
way,  like  the  water  on  a  water-wheel." 

44  We  don't  care  so  much  about  the  steam- 
boat," interrupted  Mrs.  Morgan,  "  but  tell  us 
more  about  Blandie." 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,"  responded  Mr.  Jones 
politely.  "  Fact  is,  I  have  always  thought,  to 
look  at  it  from  a  critical  point  of  view,  that  the 
big  scare  helped  me  about  Blandie.  It  shook 
me  up  so  that  I  could  think  of  something 
besides  the  dear  girl,  and  so  it  gave  a  chance 


42  RUBE  JONES. 


for  the  hurt  I  had  suffered  to  heal.  The  short 
of  it  was,  I  went  to  Bermuda  soon  after  arriv- 
ing in  New  York,  and  I  remained  on  the  island. 
It  is  a  curious  old  place,  as  you  know,  where 
the  people  are  more  than  half  blacks,  and  the 
rest  of  them  more  dead  than  alive.  But  I 
stayed  there,  working  hard,  raising  onions  and 
potatoes.  There  was  nothing  to  rouse  me.  It 
was  just  a  quiet,  dreamy  climate.  We  do  not 
have  frost  or  snow  there.  The  Gulf  Stream 
keeps  us  warm  all  the  year  round.  One  day 
is  just  like  another,  and  so  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence whether  you  stay  there  a  week  or  fifty 
years  :  it  is  one  long  dreamy  blur,  as  you  re- 
member it.  Now  and  then  a  shipwreck  on  the 
reefs  or  some  political  disturbance  helps  a  little 
to  mark  off  the  time.  But  for  the  most  part 
you  have  only  the  boom  of  the  ocean,  the  buzz 
of  the  mosquito,  the  prospect  of  the  potato  crop, 
and  the  smell  of  the  onion.  Fact  is,"  said 
Jones  putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  tilt- 
ing back  his  chair,  "  I  have  got  to  be  pretty 
well  off." 

"  And   did  you  not  hear  from  Blandie  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Morgan. 


RUBE  JONES.  43 


"  There  is  a  circumstance  about  that  which  I 
have  not  related.  I  received  a  newspaper, 
saying  that  Blandie  was  married.  It  was  an 
Albany  paper,  a  very  small,  dingy  sheet  in  those 
days,  but  quite  large  enough  to  settle  my  busi- 
ness. Somebody  had  marked  the  place  in  it 
for  me  to  see.  My  little  Blandie  was  married ; 
and  whom  do  you  guess  it  was  to?  " 

"  Was  it  not  to  Harry  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  it  was  to  the  older 
man  of  the  two  New  Yorkers,  —  Mr.  Charles 
E.  Dudley.  It  was  not  to  Harry.  Now  you 
know  who  Blandie  was.  Of  course  I  can't  tell 
you  Albany  folks  anything  new  about  Mrs. 
Blandina  Dudley.  You  know  that  she  founded 
your  Dudley  Observatory,  and  that  she  did  an 
amazing  amount  of  good,  before  she  died,  with 
her  large  property.  But  the  fact  that  Blandie 
married  well  did  n't  help  me  a  great  deal,  in 
that  long  ago  time  when  I  got  the  newspaper 
from  the  post-office  in  Bermuda.  My  view  of 
the  world  was  simply  to  the  effect  that  I  was 
done  for,  flattened  out  and  finished. 

"  However,"  resumed  Mr.  Jones,  after  a  long 


44  RUBE  JONES. 


pause,  taking  his  hands  to  lift  one  leg  over  the 
other,  "  I  gradually  picked  up,  found  I  was 
still  available  for  some  minor  purposes,  and 
traveled  on.  That  is,  I  stayed  at  Bermuda." 

"And  did  you  ever  see  Blandie  again?" 
asked  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Jones,  "  I  did  n't ;  but  I 
studied  her  up,  as  you  may  say.  Fact  is,  I  got 
over  my  conniption,  and  was  able  to  look  at  an 
Albany  newspaper  again,  after  a  few  years.  As 
the  potato  crop  came  in  good,  I  began  to  take 
the  New  York  and  Albany  newspapers.  That 
was  a  matter  of  a  dozen  years  or  so  after  Blandie 
was  married.  You  would  be  really  pleased, 
Mrs.  Morgan,  I  dare  say,  to  see  what  a  kind  of 
museum  I  managed  to  work  up  out  of  the  things 
I  found  in  the  newspapers  about  the  husband, 
Mr.  Dudley,  and,  after  his  death,  about  the 
Observatory  and  Blandie.  When  the  Obser- 
vatory was  inaugurated,  or  dedicated,  I  had  the 
proceedings  in  the  papers.  I  saved  Edward 
Everett's  great  speech,  and  what  the  others  said. 
And  I  followed  up  the  goings-on  afterward, 
about  getting  the  instruments  and  making  the 


RUBE  JONES.  45 


observations.  That  performance  Professor 
Gould,  the  astronomer  in  charge,  went  through, 
in  fighting  your  Albany  trustees,  who  wanted 
to  boss  him,  was  better  than  any  play.  Then 
when  Professor  Peters,  who  was  the  astronomer 
under  Gould,  found  a  comet  which  was  flirting 
around  among  the  stars,  it  gave  the  Observa- 
tory a  start,  —  set  them  up  in  business,  as  it 
were.  Perhaps  you  were  as  much  interested 
as  I  was  in  the  fun  they  had  trying  to  name 
that  comet,  just  for  all  the  world  as  if  a  child 
had  been  born.  They  talked  at  first  of  naming 
it  after  one  of  the  trustees,  a  real  good,  solid 
man,  who  had  been  liberal  in  giving  money  to 
buy  the  instruments.  But  then  the  scientific 
fellows  took  fire,  and  wanted  it  named  after 
one  of  them.  They  said  that  such  a  thing  as 
naming  a  comet  after  a  business  man  was  never 
heard  of,  and  that  it  would  not  do  at  all.  Well, 
there  was  pulling  and  hauling  and  jealousy 
among  the  relatives,  so  to  speak.  If  that  comet 
had  really  been  a  child,  I  think  the  father  and 
mother  would  have  hitched  on  to  it  a  string  of 
names  that  would  have  made  it  necessary  to 


46  RUBE  JONES. 


keep  a  catalogue  of  them,  or  to  get  out  a  second 
volume  to  the  directory.  The  parents  would 
have  had  to  do  it,  to  keep  the  uncles  from  be- 
coming enemies  and  killing  each  other  or  mur- 
dering the  child. 

"  And  now,  there  was  just  one  point  those 
selfish  creatures  never  thought  of.  Why  on 
earth  did  n't  they  do  the  right  thing,  and  name 
that  comet  Blandie?  She  had  given  more 
money  to  the  Observatory  than  all  the  rest  put 
together.  Her  husband  was  dead ;  she  was  a 
lone  woman  ;  she  never  had  any  children,  and 
here  was  a  chance  for  a  kind  of  heavenly  off- 
spring, as  it  were,  which  she  would  have  ap- 
preciated. I  was  so  riled  up  on  the  subject 
at  the  time  that  I  sent  a  letter  to  the  editor  of 
a  newspaper  here  about  it.  But  he  did  n't 
print  it,  and  I  don't  know  whether  he  got  it 
or  not.  Blandie  would  be  too  timid  to  speak 
for  herself ;  I  knew  that.  She  was  always  so 
good,  and  so  kind,  and  so  yielding!  "  And 
Mr.  Jones's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Let  me  see,  what  did  they  call  it  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Morgan.  "  I  don't  seem  to  remember." 


RUBE  JONES.  47 


"  Did  n't  call  it  anything,"  said  Jones  tes- 
tily. "  Parcel  of  big  fools  !  They  just  fought 
over  it  till  they  were  ashamed  of  themselves, 
and  then  put  it  down  as  comet  number  so  and 
so  of  that  year.  Think  of  it!"  said  he,  with 
a  sniff  of  contempt.  "  How  would  you  like 
it,  Mrs.  Morgan,  to  have  your  children  just 
named  number  so  and  so  of  that  year  ?  " 

"  I  would  n't  have  it,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan 
decidedly. 

"  Nobody  would  n't,"  said  Mr.  Jones.  "  Well, 
as  you  know,  early  in  March  last  Mrs.  Dud- 
ley died.  I  saw  by  the  papers  that  there 
was  going  to  be  some  contest  over  her  will, 
and  I  said  to  myself,  '  Now,  Jones,  you  may 
just  as  well  see  this  thing  through.  You  are 
well  off,  and  can  afford  it.'  And  so 'I  came 
up  here  to  Albany  to  review  my  youth,  as  I 
told  you  before,  and  to  see  the  fun,  if  there 
was  any,"  said  Jones,  a  little  hoarsely,  "in 
fighting  over  the  bones. 

"  In.  the  course  of  these  last  three  weeks  I 
have  wandered  all  around  the  city.  I  have 
been  to  the  Observatory,  and  seen  the  boss 


48  RUBE  JONES. 


telescope,  and  the  calculating  machine,  and 
the  picture  of  the  Inauguration,  and  the  clocks, 
and  all  the  wonders.  And  I  have  seen  that 
block  of  great  houses  in  Hawk  Street  which 
Mrs.  Dudley  built,  when  she  did  n't  know 
what  to  do  with  her  money.  I  have  worn  out 
a  good  pair  of  taps  stubbing  along  over  these 
rough  sidewalks.  I  have  seen  about  all  there 
is  to  see,  and  I  am  going  home." 

"  You  have  taken  a  good  deal  of  interest  in 
the  contest  over  the  will,"  I  remarked. 

"  Yes,  I  have.  It  has  not  been  my  way  to 
hang  around  the  surrogate's  office  when  the 
fight  was  going  on.  A  stranger  among  the 
mourners  might  excite  remark.  But  I  do  not 
mind  telling  you  that  I  took  board  at  this 
house  because  I  found  out  that  you  were  an 
attorney  in  the  case,  and  were  stopping  here. 
You  see  now  why  I  have  cultivated  you  so  ex- 
tensively. I  really  felt  that  I  ought  to  tell 
you  about  myself  before  I  went  away.  I  have 
a  good  mind  to  show  you  my  museum." 

I  expressed  an  ardent  wish,  in  which  Mrs. 
Morgan  joined,  that  he  would  do  so.  He  went 


RUBE  JONES.  49 


to  his  room,  and  returned  to  the  parlor  with  a 
huge  scrap-book,  and  a  box  of  photographs 
and  stereoscopic  views  illustrating  Albany, 
the  Observatory,  and  the  Island  of  Bermuda. 
The  scrap-book  contained  the  newspaper  ex- 
tracts of  which  he  had  spoken  relating  to  the 
Dudley  Observatory  and  the  Dudley  family 
and  estate,  besides  many  little  gems  of  poetry 
and  pictures. 

"  Just  thought  I  would  bring  them  along  in 
my  trunk,"  said  Jones.  "  Did  n't  know  but 
I  might  find  somebody  in  Albany  that  would 
like  to  see  them." 

We  were  beginning  (Mrs.  Morgan  and  I) 
to  admire  Jones's  curious  collection,  when  he 
hesitatingly  took  from  the  inside  breast  pocket 
of  his  coat  a  little  case,  and  said,  with  a  slight 
tremor  in  his  voice,  "  I  brought  this  down,  too, 
thinking  may  be  you  would  like  to  see  Blandie, 
that  is  Mrs.  Dudley,  as  she  looked  when  she 
was  a  girl." 

He  opened  the  antique  case,  and  showed  us 
one  of  those  old-fashioned  miniatures  painted 
on  ivory,  which  were  in  vogue  before  the 
4 


50  RUBE  JONES. 


daguerreotype  and  photograph  were  known. 
The  face  was  that  of  a  brunette,  apparently 
about  sixteen.  Aside  from  a  little  piquancy 
of  expression,  and  a  few  gay  ribbons  which 
the  painting  had  preserved  in  their  original 
vividness,  I  failed  to  see  anything  especially 
noticeable  in  the  picture. 

"  That  is  just  the  way  she  looked,"  said 
Jones,  his  voice  trembling,  "so  many,  many 
years  ago,  when  she  was  so  good,  and  so  kind, 
and  so  yielding." 

It  was  quite  still  in  the  room  for  half  a 
minute. 

"  Fact  is,"  he  added,  clearing  his  throat, 
"I  have  been  just  on  the  edge  of  stepping  off 
into  matrimony  three  times  since,  down  there 
in  Bermuda ;  but  it  was  kicked  over  every 
time,  and  I  just  knew  each  time  that  it  was 
the  hurt  I  got  with  Blandie  that  did  it.  I 
could  never  really  care  for  any  other  girl  as  I 
ought  to,  after  losing  Blandie  Becker." 

I  glanced  at  Mrs.  Morgan,  as  we  all  stood 
grouped  by  the  centre  table,  looking  at  the 
pictures.  There  was  an  odd,  puzzled  expres- 


RUBE  JONES.  51 


sion  on  her  face.  She  had  straightened  up, 
and  was  gazing  intently  at  Jones.  It  was 
evident  that  some  recognition,  or  some  re- 
markable thought  or  idea,  had  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  her.  At  length,  out  it  came  from 
her  lips,  in  a  hard,  quick,  excited  utterance : 
"  Why  !  Be  you  Eube  Jones  ?  " 

Mr.  Jones  was  not  looking  towards  her  at 
the  moment.  He  was  startled  by  the  exclama- 
tion and  the  tone  of  voice.  He  turned  to  the 
questioner  with  an  air  almost  of  alarm,  and 
replied,  "  Well,  yes,  madam ;  that  is  what 
they  call  me  at  home." 

"  Well,"  resumed  Mrs.  Morgan,  speaking 
very  quickly  and  excitedly,  "  that  is  n't  Mrs. 
Dudley's  picture  you  have  got  there.  She 
never  looked  like  that." 

"  It 's  likely  I  might  know,"  broke  in  Jones 
testily.  "  I  had  two  of  them  painted,  and 
gave  Blandie  one  and  kept  the  other." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  swallowing  hard, 
and  snapping  her  eyes  in  a  way  peculiar  to 
herself ;  "  but  Mrs.  Dudley  was  n't  Blandie 
Becker." 


52  RUBE  JONES. 


"  What 's  that,  —  what 's  that  ?  "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Jones.  "  Mrs.  Dudley  was  n't  Blandie 
Becker?" 

"  No,  she  was  n't,"  replied  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  Well,  I  say  she  was  !  "  roared  Jones. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  and  she  paused, 
and  looked  hard  at  Jones,  and  frowned. 
"  Well,  may  be  she  was." 

"  Of  course  she  was,"  said  Jones  triumph- 
antly. 

It  was  clear  to  me  that  our  hostess  had 
changed  her  mind,  and  had  decided  not  to  tell 
what  she  knew ;  and  I  happened  to  know  that 
Mrs.  Dudley  had  been  Miss  Blandina  Bleecker, 
and  not  Miss  Blandina  Becker.  Was  here 
some  important  mistake,  or  had  they  merely 
pronounced  a  name  wrongly  ? 

Jones  talked  on  for  a  while,  but  it  soon  be- 
came evident  that  Mrs.  Morgan's  excitement 
and  subsequent  reticence  had  not  escaped  his 
attention. 

"  How  did  you  know  my  name  was  Rube 
Jones  ?  "  he  suddenly  asked  her. 

"  I  did  n't,"  she  replied  evasively. 


RUBE  JONES.  53 


"Well,  why  did  you  ask?  "  he  persisted. 

She  did  not  explain  this  very  fully,  but 
merely  said  that  she  thought  there  was  a  young 
man  in  the  city,  long  ago,  of  that  name. 

"  Very  likely  it  was  I,"  said  Jones. 

Mrs.  Morgan  did  not  seem  inclined  to  dis- 
cuss this. 

"  What  was  your  maiden  name  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  might  call  it  Smith,  or  some  such 
name,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  with  an  embarrassed 
laugh. 

This  was  a  rebuff,  but  Jones  did  not  with- 
draw. He  went  to  the  verge  of  politeness  in 
trying  to  get  further  information,  but  his  ef- 
forts only  resulted  in  a  little  snubbing  to  him- 
self. Mrs.  Morgan  declined  to  gratify  Yankee 
curiosity,  as  she  termed  it. 

The  harmony  which  had  prevailed  was  some- 
how gone.  Mr.  Jones  had  now  little  to  say, 
and  seemed  to  feel  that  he  had  been  too  free 
and  talkative.  Was  Mrs.  Morgan  inclined  to 
be  disagreeable  ?  Or  was  there  some  mystery 
casting  its  shadow  upon  that  social  intercourse 
which  had  been  so  delightful  in  the  early  part 


54  RUBE  JONES. 


of  the  evening?  The  time  dragged.  Jones 
gathered  up  his  museum,  and  went  to  his  room. 

"  What  an  awfully  obstinate  man !  "  was 
Mrs.  Morgan's  comment  the  moment  he  had 
gone.  "  I  was  just  on  the  point,"  she  added, 
"  of  letting  some  facts  out,  but  I  am  glad  I 
did  n't.  Very  likely  he  will  find  them  out." 

"  Is  he  mistaken  about  something?  "  I  asked 
persuasively. 

'"I  should  rather  think  he  was,"  said  my 
landlady,  with  a  sly,  secretive  smile,  seeming 
to  imply  a  great  deal  more  than  the  words  ex- 
pressed. 

I  waited  silently. 

"  I  will  tell  you  some  other  time,  —  after  he 
has  gone  home,"  she  said. 

I  knew  from  previous  experience  of  Mrs. 
Morgan's  temper  that  urging  would  be  use- 
less, and,  bidding  her  good-night,  I  withdrew. 

During  the  next  three  days  I  saw  Jones  only 
at  the  table.  That  he  and  Mrs.  Morgan  were 
watching  each  other  intently  was  clear  to  me. 
Another  thing  was  unpleasantly  apparent :  Mr. 
Jones  was  suffering  in  some  way  to  such  a  de- 


RUBE  JONES.  55 


gree  that  his  face,  handsome,  rosy,  and  well 
preserved  as  it  was  ordinarily,  had  become 
pale,  and  almost  haggard.  It  could  readily  be 
seen  that  he  took  his  meals  only  for  form's 
sake,  and  without  appetite.  I  could  not  help 
observing  also,  as  time  went  on,  that  he  was 
shunning  me,  and  that  his  glances  toward  Mrs. 
Morgan  were  furtive,  and  indicated  a  shrink- 
ing feeling  on  his  part.  It  was  not  easy  for  me 
to  make  advances,  under  the  circumstances ; 
but  I  tried  to  show  him  by  my  manner,  and 
by  little  attentions  at  table,  that  I  would  like 
to  be  sociable,  and  that  I  desired  to  befriend 
him.  Mrs.  Morgan  was  very  attentive,  also, 
and  was  evidently  sympathizing  with  him  in 
his  trouble,  whatever  it  might  be. 

On  the  fourth  day,  in  the  morning,  the  land- 
lady beckoned  me  mysteriously  into  the  par- 
lor. This  was  her  customary  way  of  intimat- 
ing that  something  momentous  was  impending. 
She  began  the  interview  by  crying  a  little,  and 
then  said  she  desired  to  counsel  with  me  about 
Mr.  Jones. 

I  expressed  the  warmest  sympathy,  and  told 


56  RUBE  JONES. 


her  that  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to  do  any- 
thing in  his  behalf. 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan  (it 
occurred  to  me  that  she  had  caught  the  phrase 
from  Jones),  —  "  the  fact  is,  he  has  found  it 
out ;  I  am  satisfied  of  it ;  and  he  is  so  awfully 
proud  that  he  is  afraid  to  own  it." 

"  Perhaps  we  could  find  some  way  to  make 
it  easier  for  him,"  I  suggested  vaguely,  well 
knowing  that  direct  questions  were  not  the 
best  way  to  fathom  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  That  is  just  it,"  she  declared,  with  enthu- 
siasm. "  If  you  could  persuade  him  —  gently, 
you  know  —  into  the  parlor,  this  evening,  by 
telling  him  that  we  know  all  about  it,  and  urg- 
ing him  not  to  care  for  us,  and  not  to  feel  so.'' 

"Certainly,"  I  replied.  "And  what  had  I 
better  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  it  is  not  so  very  wonderful  that 
he  did  n't  know,  and  that  we  sympathize  with 
him,  and  want  to  talk  it  over,"  she  suggested. 

I  perceived  that  I  wotdd  have  to  ask  the  di- 
rect question. 

"He  has  found  out  that  Blandie  was  not 
Mrs.  Dudley,  I  suppose  ?  "  I  queried. 


RUBE  JONES.  57 


"  I  am  sure  he  has ;  but  I  don't  know 
whether  he  has  found  out  who  I  am  or  not. 
You  see,  when  my  sister  Blandie  and  I  knew 
Mr.  Jones,  he  took  a  great  notion  to  Blandie, 
and  it  is  her  that  he  means  ;  and  now  to  come 
back  here,  and  tell  all  that  stuff  about  Mrs. 
Dudley,  and  make  such  an  awful  fool  of  him- 
self !  "  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  laughing  through 
her  recent  tears. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  said  I.  "It  was  your  sis- 
ter, Blandie  Becker,  and  not  Blandie  Bleecker, 
that  is  Mrs.  Dudley,  that  Mr.  Jones  took  a 
fancy  to." 

"  That  is  just  it,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan.  And 
she  added,  with  a  laugh  that  had  a  touch  of 
derision  and  merriment  in  it,  "  The  idea  that 
he  should  get  Mrs.  Dudley  in$o  his  head,  and 
get  up  that  museum  !  She  never  even  heard 
there  was  such  a  man  as  Rube  Jones.  She 
did  n't  get  her  money  from  Mr.  Dudley.  She 
was  n't  a  poor  girl ;  she  was  the  youngest 
daughter  of  Eutger  Bleecker,  one  of  the  rich- 
est men  that  ever  lived  in  Albany." 

I  assured  Mrs.  Morgan  that  these  matters 


58  RUBE  JONES. 


interested  me  very  much,  and  that  I  would  do 
everything  in  my  power  to  aid  her  in  getting 
Mr.  Jones  safely  through  his  difficult  situa- 
tion ;  and  that  I  would,  if  the  circumstances 
favored,  try  to  induce  him  to  come  into  the 
parlor  that  evening.  Having  made  this  ar- 
rangement, I  went  away  to  my  office. 

All  that  day,  as  I  was  at  work  at  my  desk, 
thoughts  of  Rube  Jones  were  in  my  mind.  I 
no  longer  wondered  at  his  suffering  and  his 
changed  apperaance.  A  delicate  and  beautiful 
structure,  built  up  by  the  noblest  passion  of 
his  nature,  and  by  years  of  dreaming  and  be- 
lief, had  been  shattered  as  if  by  a  blow.  The 
more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  wonderful  the 
incident  seemed,  and  the  more  sympathy  I 
felt  for  the  man.  I  became  a  good  deal  in- 
terested in  the  matter,  and  a  little  nervous  in 
regard  to  the  part  I  had  in  prospect  in  the  af- 
fair, as  I  reflected  upon  it.  But  when  evening 
came,  the  pleasant  supper-table  and  the  encour- 
aging glances  of  Mrs.  Morgan  gave  me  back 
to  myself,  and  I  felt  that  success  would  be 
achieved. 


RUBE  JONES.  59 


After  supper,  as  Mr.  Jones  went  into  the 
hall  and  took  his  hat  to  go  out,  I  stepped  to 
his  side.  There  was  no  one  near.  I  said 
quietly,  u  Mr.  Jones,  we  really  hope  you  will 
favor  us  with  your  company  in  the  parlor  some 
of  the  time.  Mrs.  Morgan  and  I  have  talked 
it  over,  and  of  course  we  know  of  those  little 
things  you  got  mixed  about.  I  hope  you  will 
excuse  me,  but  really  we  would  like  to  chat 
with  you  if  you  are  willing." 

The  color  came  in  a  quick  flush  to  his  face. 
I  thought  he  would  refuse  me.  I  hastened  to 
say,  "  I  beg  your  pardon." 

But  Mr.  Jones  did  not  go  out.  He  stood 
quiet,  and  I  saw  that  his  face  quivered.  With 
an  effort  he  said,  "  Thank  you."  He  seemed 
to  hesitate ;  a  moment  more,  and  he  laid  aside 
his  hat,  and  went  with  me  into  the  parlor. 
We  took  chairs,  and  sat  down  near  Mrs. 
Morgan,  who  was  sewing  by  the  table.  She 
said,  with  some  feeling,  "  I  am  very  glad  you 
have  come  in  this  evening." 

There  was  an  embarrassing  silence.  I  was 
about  to  launch  into  a  premeditated  discourse, 
when  Jones  spoke. 


60  RUBE  JONES. 


"  Well,"  he  said,  huskily,  with  a  glance  at 
our  landlady,  "so  you  are  Polly  Becker, 
Blandie's  little  sister,  that  I  used  to  buy 
presents  for." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Morgan,  looking  at 
him,  at  first  surprisedly,  and  then  very  kindly  ; 
and  she  added,  "  I  have  got  some  of  your 
presents  yet,  Rube  Jones." 

There  seemed  to  be  something  pathetic 
about  this,  for  I  noticed  that  soon  both  of  the 
old  people  were  in  a  melting  mood. 

"  And  I  suppose  it  is  Blandie,"  said  Jones, 
hitching  nervously  in  his  seat,  and  clearing 
his  throat,  "  who  is  living  just  round  the 
corner  in  Lodge  Street." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  feeling  for  her 
handkerchief,  and  beginning  to  sob. 

"  And  she  always  taught  school,  and  never 
was  married,"  said  Jones,  breaking  down,  and 
the  tears  pouring  over  his  handsome  face. 

"  Oh,  Rube  Jones  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan, in  an  outburst. 

This  was  the  climax.  The  air  was  cleared, 
and  a  very  pleasant  and  emotional  conversa- 


RUBE  JONES.  61 


tion  about  the  affairs  of  long  ago  followed 
between  the  parties.  There  were  explanations 
and  statements  of  little  matters,  frivolous  in 
themselves,  but  which  these  good  people 
laughed  and  cried  over  as  if  they  were  more 
to  them,  as  doubtless  they  were,  than  anything 
else  in  the  world.  Jones  dwelt  quite  largely 
upon  the  evening  walks  and  the  doorstep  con- 
versations and  the  roses  of  the  old  times,  and 
the  pleasant  little  surprises,  in  the  way  of 
presents,  which  he  prepared  for  Polly.  Did 
she  remember  ?  Yes,  she  had  not  forgotten  ; 
and  she  remembered  how  Rube  carried  her 
on  his  shoulder,  and  the  tricks  she  played, 
and  how  she  pulled  his  ears  and  his  hair.  In 
laughing  and  crying  over  these  reminiscences, 
Jones  was  as  simple-hearted  as  a  child. 

Wishing  to  take  some  part  in  the  conver- 
sation of  the  evening,  I  interposed  a  remark 
upon  my  premeditated  topic.  I  spoke  of  the 
important  part  which  the  mistaken  identity 
of  persons  has  played  in  the  courts.  But  I 
regretted  my  venture  immediately,  for  I  saw 
a  look  of  pain  cross  the  face  of  Mr.  Jones. 


62  RUBE  JONES. 


He  said,  "  I  have  seen  earthquakes  and  I  have 
seen  hurricanes,  but  I  never  knew  what  it  was 
really  to  tear  up  things  until  the  last  few 
days." 

Mrs.  Morgan  perceived  my  mistake,  and 
skillfully  turned  the  conversation  into  its  for- 
mer channel.  I  saw  that  the  subject  of  Mrs. 
Dudley,  and  the  error  in  regard  to  her,  was 
not  a  matter  to  be  profitably  alluded  to  in  the 
presence  of  Mr.  Jones.  It  dawned  upon  me 
that  my  mission  in  the  parlor  that  evening 
was  ended.  I  excused  myself,  notwithstand- 
ing entreaties  to  remain,  and  left  .the  friends 
to  their  own  devices.  They  made  a  late  even- 
ing of  it,  and,  as  I  subsequently  learned,  ar- 
ranged their  plans  for  the  morrow. 

By  the  arrangement,  it  fell  to  my  lot,  the 
next  day,  to  show  Mr.  Jones  the  house  where 
his  old  sweetheart  resided.  Mrs.  Morgan  had 
told  her  sister  about  matters,  and  she  went 
that  morning  and  gave  her  notice,  so  that 
Jones  was  expected.  It  was  thought  by  Polly 
that  it  would  be  easier  for  Blandie  to  see  Rube 
first  without  other  company.  So  I  piloted  him 


RUBE  JONES.  63 


to  the  little  wooden  house  where  Miss  Blaiidie 
Becker  had  her  home,  and  where  she  had  a 
school  -  room,  and  had  taught  very  young 
children  for  many  years.  She  had,  however, 
ceased  to  teach  her  infant  school,  and  was 
now  living  in  the  house  with  only  a  servant- 
girl. 

As  we  walked  toward  the  place,  Eube  told 
me  that  the  discovery  that  Blandie  was  still 
living  had  overwhelmed  him  at  first,  and  that 
he  was  still  nervous.  I  encouraged  him  all  I 
could,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was  agi- 
tated. When  we  reached  Blandie' s  house,  I 
stepped  to  the  lowly  door-way  and  rapped,  for 
there  was  no  bell.  A  woman's  voice  said, 
"  Come  in  ;  "  and  I  entered,  Mr.  Jones  follow- 
ing close  behind. 

Seated  in  the  middle  of  the  room  was  the 
old  lady,  dark,  bent,  and  thin.  She  had  a 
book  in  her  lap. 

I  said,  "Miss  Becker,  this  is  Mr.  Jones," 
and  presented  him. 

She  glanced  up  timidly,  and  rose  somewhat 
totteringly  from  her  chair.  She  stepped  to 


64  RUBE  JONES. 


the  other  side  of  the  room,  to  put  her  book 
away,  before  welcoming  us,  but  she  did  not 
return.  She  stood  with  her  face  to  the  wall 
and  her  back  toward  us,  and  we  knew  that 
she  was  crying.  She  seemed  like  a  poor 
frightened  child.  She  told  us  afterward  that 
she  thought  just  then  how  poor  an  apology 
she  was  for  that  rich  woman,  Mrs.  Dudley. 

"  Oh,  it 's  little  Blandie  !  "  said  Mr.  Jones, 
softly  crying  in  sympathy.  "  I  know  by  the 
way  she  acts." 

"I  will  be  back  in  half  an  hour,  Mr. 
Jones,"  I  said  ;  and  I  went  out  and  closed  the 
door  after  me.  At  the  expiration  of  the  half 
hour,  when  I  returned,  I  found  that  Mrs. 
Morgan  had  come,  just  as  I  knew  she  would. 
What  woman  would  have  stayed  away  ?  There 
was  Jones  happy  as  a  Turk,  with  the  two 
women,  one  on  each  side  of  him,  evidently  ad- 
miring him,  and  regarding  him  as  the  hand- 
somest old  boy  in  the  world.  But  little  more 
of  the  details  of  this  affair  came  to  my  knowl- 
edge. I  noticed,  however,  for  the  next  six 
weeks,  that  every  evening  Jones  and  the  two 


RUBE  JONES.  65 


sisters  were  together,  either  in  the  parlor  at 
Mrs.  Morgan's,  or  at  Blandie's  house.  Their 
talk  was  in  regard  to  events  remote  in  time,  of 
which  I  understood  but  little.  But  I  saw  that 
the  little  presents  Rube  had  given  them  long 
ago  had  been  preserved  by  the  two  sisters. 
The  duplicate  of  the  picture  Rube  had  cher- 
ished was  still  in  Blandie's  possession.  This 
and  all  the  little  trifles  were  examined,  and 
their  preciousness  dwelt  upon  as  if  they  had 
some  sacred  quality,  as  indeed  they  had  in  the 
eyes  of  these  people,  who  saw  in  them  their 
own  vanished  youth.  The  season,  as  it  went 
by,  was  evidently  a  lovely  Indian  summer  to 
these  friends,  though  the  outward  weather  was, 
in  fact,  like  the  period  in  life  at  which  they 
had  arrived,  of  a  wintry  character.  There 
seemed  no  end  to  their  explanations  and  con- 
jectures as  to  how  it  was  and  how  it  must  have 
been,  in  that  time  so  many  years  ago,  when 
they  were  young,  and  when  Rube  and  Blandie 
ought  to  have  married.  Each  time  they  dis- 
cussed the  subject  it  yielded  a  fresh  crop  of 
recollections  and  surmises,  all  of  which  in- 

5 


66  RUBE  JONES. 


variably  led  to  the  delightful  conclusion  that 
nobody  was  to  blame  except  Providence  and 
the  post-office.  As  the  trio  became  more  and 
more  familiar  and  happy  in  discussing  these 
themes,  the  Dudley  subject  would  sometimes 
be  touched  upon  inadvertently.  It  was  so  in- 
termingled with  the  affair  that  this  could  not 
be  avoided.  It  was  a  long  time,  however,  be- 
fore Rube  ceased  to  wince  when  that  matter 
was  referred  to,  and  it  was  as  far  as  possible, 
in  kindness  to  him,  allowed  to  rest  in  silence. 

There  was  a  theory,  which  Jones  advanced 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  winter,  founded  upon 
a  discovery  of  his  at  the  State  Library,  which 
made  some  stir  among  us,  and  helped  him  very 
much  upon  this  subject.  He  brought  to  light, 
in  a  bound  volume  of  old  Albany  newspapers, 
the  very  notice  of  the  marriage  of  Mrs.  Dud- 
ley which  had  misled  him  so  many  years  be- 
fore. The  Bleecker  was  spelled  with  a  single 
e.  By  erasing  the  I  with  a  knife,  the  name 
could  be  made  Becker,  with  only  a  slight  mis- 
spacing,  very  common  in  newspaper  print. 
Jones  claimed  that  his  rival,  Harry  Day,  had 


RUBE  JONES.  67 


played  this  trick  upon  him.  Polly  remem- 
bered, young  as  she  was  at  the  time,  that  there 
was  some  conspiracy  on  the  part  of  her  mother 
and  Harry  against  poor  Blandie  and  her  rustic 
lover.  Polly  also  thought  she  remembered 
hearing  Harry  laugh,  some  year  or  two  after- 
ward, on  one  occasion  when  he  came  up  from 
New  York,  about  some  newspaper  joke  he  had 
played  upon  somebody. 

Whatever  the  facts  may  really  have  been, 
this  theory  of  a  newspaper  trick  helped  Jones 
wonderfully.  It  restored  his  confidence,  so 
that  he  became  much  less  sensitive  upon  the 
subject  of  Mrs.  Dudley.  He  said  that  any 
man  might  be  the  victim  of  a  practical  joke, 
or,  if  we  would  allow  the  expression,  of  prac- 
tical villainy. 

As  Harry  was  "  dead  and  gone,"  and  as 
Polly  said  that,  with  all  his  fine  airs  and  hand- 
some clothes,  he  never  amounted  to  anything, 
and  as  it  was  known  that  Blandie  never  fa- 
vored his  suit,  Jones  found  it  possible  to  for- 
give him.  The  trio,  indeed,  as  they  became 
more  and  more  interested  in  recalling  the 


68  RUBE  JONES. 


past,  forgave  everybody,  and  spoke  of  "  poor 
Harry  "  and  all  the  others  who  were  deceased 
with  feelings  of  kindness  and  admiration. 
The  satisfaction  with  which  their  lives  were 
reviewed  by  these  friends  was  a  very  pleas- 
ant thing  to  contemplate.  As  the  overflow  of 
kindly  sympathy  was  increased  by  their  com- 
panionship from  day  to  day,  the  discovery  was 
somehow  made  that  all  must  have  been  for  the 
best,  and  that  Providence,  grim  as  it  seemed 
to  them,  had  really  no  hostile  intentions. 

As  the  winter  drew  to  a  close,  Rube  lin- 
gered, protracting  his  visit  far  beyond  his 
original  purpose.  He  confessed  to  me  that  he 
had  never  really  known  what  home  was  before, 
since  he  had  left  his  father's  house,  and  said 
that  he  had  not  supposed  he  could  ever  be  so 
contented  and  happy  as  he  now  found  himself. 
The  only  time  he  recalled  that  he  could  com- 
pare with  it  was  that  golden  summer  which  he 
had  spent  in  Albany,  in  his  early  youth. 

In  April  Mr.  Jones  announced  that  he  must 
return  to  his  home  in  Bermuda.  His  parting 
with  his  old  sweetheart  was  witnessed  by  jio 


RUBE  JONES.  69 


vulgar  eyes,  but  Mrs.  Morgan  confided  to  me 
the  fact  that  Blandie,  old  as  she  was,  put  her 
arms  around  Rube's  neck,  and  that  he  cried 
as  if  he  had  been  one  of  those  infants  whom 
Blandie  had  been  accustomed  to  instruct  in  her 
younger  days.  Rube  promised  that  he  would 
come  back  the  next  winter,  and  if  possible  ar- 
range to  live  permanently  in  Albany;  and 
doubtless  he  would  have  done  so  if  Blandie 
had  lived.  He  remarked  to  me,  as  I  walked 
with  him  to  the  train  to  see  him  off,  and  give 
him  the  last  hand-shake  for  the  household,  that 
he  would  certainly  come  again  the  next  season. 
But  he  added,  in  a  general  way,  and  with  that 
air  of  independence  which  single  gentlemen 
seem  to  affect,  that,  as  there  was  not  much  go- 
ing on  in  business,  he  didn't  know  but  he 
might  as  well  be  "  fooling  around  among  the 
women "  as  doing  anything  else.  I  did  not 
mean  to  remember  this  against  him,  for,  after 
all,  it  was  probably  only  "  his  way."  He  per- 
haps desired  to  impress  me  with  the  idea  that 
he  was  an  independent  bachelor.  I  could  not 
help  seeing,  however,  from  various  indications. 


70  RUBE  JONES. 


that  he  emerged  from  the  scenes  he  had  passed 
through,  unsubdued  and  elastic. 

As  already  intimated,  Blandie  did  not  last 
long.  She  died  the  next  summer,  —  just  faded 
away,  as  yielding  people  so  often  do,  with  a 
submission  that  seems  to  divest  the  skeleton 
king  of  his  terrors.  Jones  was  duly  informed 
of  her  decease  by  a  communication  directed 
to  his  home  in  Bermuda.  He  sent  in  return 
a  letter  of  condolence  to  Mrs.  Morgan.  It 
was  a  model  of  its  kind.  I  had  not  given 
him  credit  for  so  much  good  judgment  as  it 
evinced. 

But  Jones's  real  response  came  to  me,  in  a 
private  letter,  which  I  was  not  to  exhibit  to 
Mrs.  Morgan.  He  gave  me  an  urgent  invita- 
tion to  visit  him  at  his  island  home.  He  in- 
timated that  he  should  never  visit  Albany 
again.  "  The  fact  is,  my  dear  boy,"  he  wrote, 
"if  I  were  to  come  to  your  city,  now  that 
Blandie  is  gone,  just  one  thing  would  be  inev- 
itable :  old  as  I  am,  I  would  certainly  have  to 
marry  Polly,  and  that  would  never  do.  No 
woman  shall  ever  come  between  me  and  the 


RUBE  JONES.  71 


little  girl  I  chose  so  many  years  ago,  who  is 
now  waiting  for  me  in  the  better  country." 

Jones  informed  me  that,  after  getting  back 
to  his  old  home,  he  found  that  many  of  his  old 
thoughts  came  back  to  him,  and  he  could  not 
get  rid  of  the  idea  that  the  Blandie  of  whom 
he  had  dreamed  so  many  years  was  in  some 
way  connected  with  the  Observatory. 

Subsequently,  I  received  letters  from  him 
upon  various  subjects,  and  they  gave  me  great 
pleasure.  He  was  a  good  correspondent.  The 
sound  of  the  sea  and  the  charm  of  Bermuda, 
the  roses  and  the  coral  and  the  warmth  of  the 
Gulf  Stream,  seemed  to  be  conveyed  in  his  let- 
ters. I  saw  in  them,  also,  memories  of  that 
early  love  which  had  haunted  him  so  long,  and 
the  shifting  dreams  which  he  still  cherished. 
He  referred  often  to  the  problem  which  his 
history  presented.  It  was  not  easy  to  under- 
stand why  an  item  in  a  newspaper  should  have 
been  allowed  by  Providence  to  mislead  him, 
and  so  change  the  color  and  fortunes  of  his 
whole  life.  Why  was  it,  he  asked  me,  that  he 
and  Blandie  had  lived  apart,  when  they  seemed 


72  RUBE  JONES. 


so  clearly  to  have  been  intended  for  each 
other  ?  And  why  was  it  that  when  he  had  so 
unexpectedly  and  wonderfully  found  her  again 
she  so  soon  faded  away  ?  But  my  old  friend 
never  complained  of  these  strange  dealings  of 
Providence  with  him ;  he  only  sought  rever- 
ently to  understand  them.  I  cannot  recall  a 
word  of  murmuring,  although  to  me  he  re- 
vealed unconsciously  the  loneliness  of  his  life. 
Truth  to  tell,  there  was  something  pathetic  in 
the  figure  of  Rube  Jones  as  I  saw  him  in  his 
letters,  carrying  about  in  his  thoughts,  as  the 
long  years  went  round,  in  the  narrow  bounds 
of  his  island  home,  the  constant  memory  of  his 
thwarted  affection. 

Mr.  Jones  confessed  that  he  still  made  clip- 
pings from  the  newspapers,  and  continued  to 
increase  his  museum.  He  claimed  that  the 
history  of  Mrs.  Dudley  was  a  part  of  the  his- 
tory of  his  own  mind,  and  that  it  was  well  to 
follow  it  up  for  that  reason,  if  for  no  other. 

As  the  years  passed,  our  correspondence 
ceased,  and  Rube  Jones  was  forgotten.  Mrs. 
Morgan  had  died,  and  it  would  have  been  nat- 


RUBE  JONES.  73 


ural  to  suppose  that  Mr.  Jones  had  gone  the 
way  of  all  the  earth,  also.  But  a  recent  event 
recalled  him.  My  clerk,  a  handsome,  impul- 
sive young  fellow,  bounded  into  my  office  one 
morning  last  March,  bursting  with  the  intelli- 
gence that  his  young  friend  Charlie  Wells, 
who  had  recently  entered  the  Dudley  Obser- 
vatory as  an  assistant,  had  immortalized  his 
name  by  finding  a  comet.  He  said  it  was  the 
second  comet  ever  found  at  the  Observatory. 

Some  ten  days  later,  there  appeared  in  my 
morning's  mail  a  letter  with  the  Bermuda  post- 
mark. It  contained  about  a  dozen  words  of 
congratulation  from  Jones  on  the  fact  that 
"  Blandie's  Observatory  "  had  found  another 
comet.  I  answered  the  letter  wonderingly. 
Could  it  be  that  my  old  acquaintance  was  still 
living  ?  My  curiosity  was  excited.  I  remem- 
bered a  correspondent  who  had  business  which 
took  him  often  to  Bermuda.  I  was  at  some 
pains  to  find  out  through  him  about  my  old  ac- 
quaintance. The  report  was  a  eulogistic  one 
in  regard  to  Jones.  His  excellent  constitution 
and  careful  living  had  carried  him  into  the 


74  RUBE  JONES. 


nineties,  and  he  was  still  able  to  get  about.  I 
learned,  however,  of  his  death  shortly  after- 
ward. The  new  comet  (the  Wells  comet  of 
1882)  was  his  last  enthusiasm. 


75 
JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

j]T  resulted  in  a  lawsuit. 

The  culmination  was  on  the  sixth 
day  of  September,  1881,  that  strange 
yellow  day  that  attracted  so  much  attention 
in  the  Eastern  and  Middle  States,  and  the 
place  of  the  trial  was  Albany. 

Jacob's  farm-house  was  near  the  Cove,  about 
seven  miles  below  Albany.  From  his  door  he 
could  look  down  on  the  Hudson.  The  Cove, 
by  the  old  landing,  with  its  decayed  houses, 
was  also  visible.  The  cars  racing  along  the 
farther  shore  of  the  river  were  a  lively  feature. 
A  dozen  miles  lower  down  the  valley  the  river 
hides  behind  the  Catskills. 

In  the  house  thus  picturesquely  situated, 
Jacob  and  his  ancestors  had  lived  for  ninety 
years.  The  family  name  was  an  inheritance. 

Jacob  was  forty-two  years  old,  tall,  blonde, 


76  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

with  a  mobile  face,  and  a  dash  of  red  in  his 
cheeks. 

On  the  seventeenth  day  of  September,  of  the 
year  previous  to  that  of  the  yellow  day,  Jacob 
was  awakened  in  the  night.  He  heard  his  pigs 
squealing  and  "bucking,"  as  he  termed  it, 
against  his  house.  He  went  out,  half  dressed, 
and  found  the  pig-pen  a  heap  of  embers.  Mary, 
his  wife,  and  William,  his  boy,  came  out.  They 
found  all  the  pigs,  but  they  were  scorched  and 
knocking  about,  and  one  died  in  a  few  minutes 
of  his  burns.  The  family  went  to  bed  again, 
but  did  not  sleep  much. 

In  the  morning  Jacob  got  out  his  insurance 
policy,  and  he  and  Mary  and  Willie  looked  it 
over.  They  did  not  see  anything  about  a  pig- 
pen in  it,  and  so  he  put  it  away  again. 

A  week  later  Jacob's  small  barn,  four  rods 
south  of  his  house,  was  burned.  It  was  in  the 
daytime,  in  the  afternoon.  Jacob  came  back 
from  Albany  at  five  o'clock,  and  saw  only  the 
vacancy.  Willie  said  that  at  three  o'clock  it 
was  on  fire.  Some  of  the  neighbors  had  come, 
but  nothing  could  be  done.  It  was  of  pine 
boards,  thirty  years  old,  and  empty. 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  77 

The  insurance  policy  had  "  all  about  the 
barns"  in  it.  Jacob  therefore  went  down  to 
"  Silas's,"  at  the  Cove,  and  made  an  applica- 
tion for  an  award.  They  had  a  local  insurance 
company  in  town.  They  had  seen  "  enough  " 
of  large  companies ;  the  mutual  affair  at  home 
was  better.  Jacob's  policy  was  in  the  home 
company. 

As  soon  as  Jacob  told  his  story,  Silas  said  it 
was  all  right. 

The  committee  came  next  day.  They  award- 
ed Jacob  a  hundred  dollars.  It  was  satisfac- 
tory. 

Five  days  later  Jacob's  large  barn,  farther 
away  from  the  house  and  on  the  other  side, 
north  (towards  Albany),  where  all  his  hay  and 
wagons  and  implements  and  crops  were,  sud- 
denly took  fire  and  burned  up. 

It  was  "  astonishing  "  !  What  could  have 
caused  it  ?  It  was  a  heavy  loss  this  time. 
Jacob  had  hard  work  to  get  his  horses  out  and 
save  them  ;  all  else  was  consumed.  It  was  a 
very  mysterious  fire ;  all  three  of  the  fires  had 
been  mysterious.  This  last  fire  occurred  in 


78  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

the  edge  of  the  evening,  just  as  it  was  grow- 
ing dark.  Jacob  was  at  home  in  his  house, 
and  did  not  know  of  the  conflagration  until  a 
woman  came  from  the  next  house,  screaming. 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  had  any  enemy,  Jacob," 
said  old  William  Kamfer,  just  after  the  fire. 

"  I  did  n't,  either,"  said  Jacob  gloomily. 

There  was  comfort  in  the  fact  that  the  prop- 
erty had  been  insured.  The  day  after  the  burn- 
ing, Jacob  went  again  to  the  Cove  and  made 
his  application. 

"  Something  seems  to  be  after  you,  Jacob," 
said  Silas,  eying  him  keenly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jacob  sadly. 

Silas  wrote  the  required  papers,  and  said  the 
committee  would  come  up  soon.  The  very 
next  morning,  at  nine  o'clock,  the  committee 
were  on  hand  and  examining  the  place  where 
the  barn  had  stood.  They  were  "at  it "  more 
than  two  hours.  There  was  a  great  deal  of 
measuring  and  making  inquiries ;  they  said  it 
was  a  heavy  loss.  Besides  the  long  examina- 
tion of  the  place  where  the  large  barn  had  been, 
they  had  the  curiosity  to  go  and  look  once  more 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  79 

where  the  small  barn  had  been,  and  took  some 
measurements  there,  and  they  poked  in  the 
ashes  of  the  hog-pen,  and  walked  about  the 
premises.  One  of  them  carried  a  book,  and 
jotted  down  the  measurements  and  other  items. 

The  committee  delayed  making  any  award. 
They  said  it  was  an  important  matter,  and  they 
would  take  time. 

After  three  days  Jacob  went  down  to  the 
Cove  and  inquired  of  Silas.  The  answer  was 
that  the  board  would  meet  before  the  end  of 
the  week,  and  that  then  something  would  be 
done  about  it.  Some  of  Jacob's  own  immediate 
friends  and  neighbors  belonged  to  the  board. 
He  spoke  to  them  about  it ;  they  seemed  reticent. 

There  was  delay,  and  another  visit  of  the 
committee,  with  more  measuring,  and  a  first 
and  then  a  second  meeting  of  the  board.  After 
about  fifteen  days,  however,  Silas  walked  up 
from  the  Cove,  a  distance  of  two  miles,  and 
left  a  letter  with  Mary  for  Jacob. 

When  Jacob  came  in  to  dinner  he  got  the 
letter.  It  had  the  insurance  company  head- 
ing, and  said :  — 


80  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

MR.  JACOB  WILSON  :  — 

SIR,  —  In  the  case  of  the  barn  on  your 
premises,  which,  burned  on  the  29th  of  Sep- 
tember, 1880,  it  is  decided,  in  view  of  all  the 
circumstances,  that  no  award  will  be  made. 

This  was  signed  by  Silas,  as  secretary  of 
the  company. 

A  week  later  Jacob  was  in  a  lawyer's  office 
in  Albany,  in  private  consultation. 

"  I  don't  want  no  la  wing,"  said  Jacob,  "  and 
my  wife  says  so,  too,  although  we  cannot  stand 
it  to  lose  eighteen  hundred  dollars." 

"  Are  you  going  to  let  them  say  you  burned 
the  buildings?  "  said  the  lawyer. 

"  They  dar'  n't  say  it,"  replied  Jacob, 
fiercely.  . 

"  That  is  the  meaning  of  it,"  said  the  lawyer. 

Jacob  was  silent.  The  old  family  name, 
distinguished  for  honesty,  was  at  stake,  as  well 
as  the  property. 

The  papers  were  served  in  November,  and  in 
January  the  cause  was  on  the  calendar  at  the 
Albany  circuit  of  the  supreme  court  of  the 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  81 

State.  The  calendar  is  always  crowded,  and 
there  is  delay  in  coming  to  trial.  The  cause 
was  not  reached  until  September  the  5th,  1881, 
at  an  adjourned  circuit,  the  day  before  the  fa- 
mous yellow  day,  already  alluded  to. 

The  city  hall,  in  which  the  courts  were  held, 
having  been  destroyed  by  fire  a  short  time 
before,  the  circuit  was  held  in  the  Assembly 
chamber  of  the  old  Capitol.  It  seemed  to  Jacob 
an  imposing  scene,  as  he  entered  the  famous 
room  where  so  many  laws  were  made,  and  in 
which  the  law  was  to  be  administered  in  his 
case.  He  had  to  wait,  hanging  around  the 
court  for  three  days  before  his  case  was  reached. 
The  time  was  not  lost  to  him.  He  heard  several 
trials,  which  were  as  interesting  as  story-books. 

At  five  o'clock,  on  the  evening  of  the  5th  of 
September,  number  ninety  on  the  calendar, 
which  was  Jacob's  case,  was  reached.  Jacob's 
lawyer  and  the  opposing  counsel  announced 
themselves  ready.  Jacob  was  invited  forward 
to  a  seat  by  the  side  of  his  lawyer,  and  the 
drawing  of  a  jury  began  immediately.  A  few 
were  rejected,  but  before  six  o'clock  —  the  hour 


82  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

for  adjournment  —  twelve  men  who  were  satis- 
factory to  both  sides  had  been  secured,  and 
Jacob's  lawyer  had  opened  the  case,  and  the 
trial  was  fairly  begun. 

The  court  accompanied  its  announcement  of 
the  recess  until  morning  with  a  warning  to  the 
jury  not  to  allow  any  one  to  talk  with  them 
about  the  case. 

Jacob  did  not  sleep  that  night.  He  was  at 
the  American  Hotel,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  down 
State  Street,  in  front  of  the  Capitol.  He  and 
his  wife  were  on  the  third  floor,  at  the  end  of 
the  hall,  in  room  No.  241.  As  Jacofe  was 
going  to  his  room,  a  large  man,  with  dark, 
piercing  eyes,  standing  in  the  door  of  room 
No.  239,  said,  "  Your  case  is  on,  hey  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jacob,  as  he  was  passing. 

"  You  'd  better  look  sharp,"  said  the  large 
man. 

"Why?"  inquired  Jacob  wonderingly,  as 
he  paused. 

"  Eough  business,  burning  down  buildings," 
said  the  large  man  harshly ;  and  he  closed 
the  door  of  his  room  with  a  bang. 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  83 

Jacob  passed  on  to  his  own  apartment. 
There  he  talked  over  the  events  of  the  day 
with  his  wife.  When  he  tried  to  sleep  that 
night,  the  Assembly  chamber  and  the  face  of 
the  large  man  in  room  No.  239  haunted  him. 

In  the  morning,  after  breakfast,  down  in 
the  front  hall,  Jacob  met  the  large  man  again. 

"  Try  a  twist  at  it  to-day,  I  s'pose,"  said  the 
large  man  sharply  to  Jacob. 

"  Yes,  the  trial,"  answered  Jacob,  nervously. 

"  Somebody  has  been  committing  an  awful 
crime,"  observed  the  large  man.  "  Have  you 
seen  the  sky?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  strange,"  said  Jacob,  not  per- 
ceiving the  connection. 

"  They  say  it  is  the  end  of  the  world,  — 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah,"  said  the  large  man  ; 
and  he  turned  and  walked  away. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  court  convened.  As 
Jacob  approached  the  Capitol  steps,  he  saw  a 
chubby  person,  on  the  brick  pavement  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps,  explaining  to  a  group  of 
people  his  views  of  the  weather.  "  I  do  not 
think  myself,"  said  the  chubby  person,  glanc- 


84  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

ing  at  the  yellow  canopy,  "  that  it  is  anything 
supernatural,  but  I  have  seen  fifty  people  this 
morning  who  think  it  is  the  end  of  the  world." 

Jacob  found  it  oppressive  in  the  court. 
The  judge  said  it  was  a  gloomy  room  and'  a 
gloomy  day,  and  directed  the  officers  to  light 
the  gas.  The  artificial  light  did  not  relieve 
the  atmospheric  pallor  very  much,  although  it 
enabled  the  judge  and  the  lawyers  to  read 
their  papers. 

Jacob,  and  Mary  his  wife,  and  Willie,  and 
the  woman  who  saw  the  fire  first,  and  came  to 
Jacob's  house,  screaming,  testified  to  the  facts. 
This,  with  the  documentary  evidence,  made 
the  plaintiff's  case.  The  short-hand  writer  of 
the  court  took  down  the  evidence  very  rapidly, 
and  at  about  twelve  o'clock  noon  the  plain- 
tiff's side  of  the  case  was  before  the  jury. 

Then  the  opposing  counsel  proceeded  to 
open  the  defense.  After  a  few  general  state- 
ments he  began  to  hint  that  there  was  a  pain- 
ful revelation  to  be  made  bearing  upon  the 
character  of  the  plaintiff.  The  intimation 
was  that  Jacob  had  burned  his  own  buildings 
to  get  the  insurance. 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  85 

"  That  is  a  mean  and  contemptible  insinua- 
tion," exclaimed  Jacob's  lawyer,  springing  to 
his  feet,  "  and  you  have  no  right  to  suggest 
such  a  thing,  when  you  know  you  can't  prove 
it!" 

"  Sir"  rejoined  the  opposing  lawyer,  utter- 
ing the  words  with  a  pause  after  each,  and  a 
scathing  hiss  that  made  Jacob's  flesh  creep, 
"  we  will  prove  it !  " 

Jacob  felt  as  if  the  very  ground  was  open- 
ing beneath  him,  as  the  lawyer  went  on,  with 
diabolical  coolness,  to  state  that  they  had,  al- 
though with  some  difficulty,  secured  the  very 
witness  who  saw  "  this  miscreant "  (indicating 
Jacob)  fire  his  own  buildings.  Happening  to 
turn  his  head  just  then,  Jacob  saw  the  large 
man  sitting  within  six  feet  of  him,  and  watch- 
ing him  closely.  This  completed  his  con- 
fusion. The  subsequent  proceedings  upon  the 
trial  were  not  very  clearly  apprehended  by 
Jacob. 

The  court  took  a  recess  for  dinner.  As 
Jacob  went  to  his  room  the  large  man  stood  in 
the  door  of  room  No.  239  again.  "  Hard  at 
it,  hey  ?  "  he  said,  as  Jacob  passed. 


86  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

"  Yes,  but  they  can't  prove  it,"  said  Jacob, 
with  a  determined  accent. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  large  man  severely,  "  they 
can  prove  anything,  if  they  have  the  evi- 
dence," and  the  large  man  went  into  his  room 
and  banged  the  door  again. 

In  the  afternoon  the  evidence  upon  the  part 
of  the  defense  was  given.  The  first  witnesses 
called  upon  that  side  did  not  seem  very  im- 
portant to  the  case.  They  were,  however, 
some  of  Jacob's  neighbors,  and  the  evidence 
was  very  painful  to  him  on  that  account.  One 
testified  that  there  could  not  have  been  as 
much  hay  in  the  barn  when  it  was  burned  as 
Jacob  insisted  there  was.  Another  thought 
that  Jacob  had  exaggerated  the  size  of  the 
bay  where  the  hay  was  stored,  and  he  thought, 
for  that  reason,  there  could  not  have  been  as 
much  as  was  represented.  Still  another  had 
walked  over  Jacob's  farm  when  the  hay  and 
grain  were  growing,  and  was  confident  that 
there  was  only  a  "middlin'  crop,"  and  by  no 
means  as  much  as  the  plaintiff  claimed. 

The    opposing    counsel    explained,   with   a 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  87 

glance  at  the  jury,  that  this  evidence  was  pre- 
sented not  only  as  bearing  upon  the  question 
of  the  amount  of  the  loss,  but  as  showing 
more  clearly  the  nature  of  the  attempt,  "on 
the  part  of  this  wretched  man,"  to  defraud 
his  neighbors. 

There  was  a  significant  pause.  The  oppos- 
ing counsel  held  a  whispered  conversation  with 
his  assistant  attorney,  and  with  some  men 
whom  Jacob  recognized  as  members  of  the 
board;  he  then  rose  and  said  impressively, 
"  We  call  Gotlieb  Jansen." 

A  short,  elderly  man,  rather  thin  than  full- 
faced,  but  evidently  a  German,  was  sent  for- 
ward from  the  back  seats.  Jacob  recognized 
him;  he  was  a  "hired  man,"  who  worked 
about  the  neighborhood  at  the  Cove. 

Jansen  gave  his  testimony  through  an  officer 
of  the  court,  who  acted  as  interpreter.  His 
statement  was  that,  standing  "  over  beyond  " 
a  hollow,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  in  the 
field  back  of  Jacob's  large  barn,  he  had  seen 
Jacob  come  behind  the  barn,  deliberately 
strike  a  match,  and  set  the  straw  and  hay  and 
barn  on  fire. 


88  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

The  cross-examination  of  this  witness  by 
Jacob's  counsel  was  the  interesting  feature  of 
the  trial. 

"Ask  him,"  said  the  counsel,  "if  he  could 
see  how  Jacob  was  dressed." 

"  He  says  '  yes,  he  could,' "  responded  the 
interpreter,  after  putting  the  question  to  the 
witness. 

"  Ask  him  what  color  his  clothes  were." 

"  He  says  he  wore  brown,  or  a  kind  of  red, 
iron-cloth  overalls." 

"  Ask  him  whether  Jacob  had  on  boots  or 
shoes." 

"  Dey  vos  poots,  —  dey  vos  poots,"  said  the 
witness,  making  a  cross-lots  answer  in  broken 
English  to  save  time. 

"  You  understand  my  question  ?  "  said  the 
counsel. 

"  Yaas,  yaas,  I  untersthan,"  said  Gotlieb. 

"  Ask  him  in  German,"  said  the  court  to  the 
interpreter. 

The  interpreter  complied,  and  responded, 
"  He  says  they  were  boots." 

"  Ask  him  what  time  of  day  it  was,"  said 
the  counsel. 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  89 

"  He  says  it  was  just  getting  dark." 

"  Ask  him  what  Jacob  had  around  his  neck, 
when  he  saw  him  strike  the  match  and  set  the 
fire." 

"  He  says  it  was  a  black  handkerchief." 

"•Ask  him  if  he  could  see  him  plain." 

"  He  says  'yes.' ' 

"Ask  him  whether  he  had  on  stockings," 
said  the  counsel. 

This  question  caused  a  slight  ripple  of  mer- 
riment. Old  Gotlieb  glanced  around,  saw  the 
fun,  and  laughing  and  shaking  his  head  said, 
"  Naw,  naw,  could  not  tell  de  shtockings." 

There  was  a  brief  re-direct  examination,  in 
which  Gotlieb  stated  that  he  did  not  mean 
that  he  actually  saw  the  match,  but  only  saw 
Jacob  stoop  over  and  strike,  as  if  it  was  a 
match,  and  then  saw  it  kindle,  and  saw  it  grow 
to  a  large  fire.  He  also  explained  that  the 
overalls  were  blue  instead  of  red. 

It  was  apparent  that  Gotlieb's  left  eye  had 
been  injured  or  lost.  His  examination  was 
concluded  by  a  single  question,  asked  by  Ja- 
cob's lawyer,  which  drew  out  from  Gotlieb  the 


90  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

answer,  "  Naw,  naw,  can  only  see  from  von 
eye." 

As  the  concluding  evidence  in  the  case  Ja- 
cob was  now  recalled  formally  to  deny,  as  the 
rules  of  evidence  require,  the  statements  made 
by  the  witnesses  against  him.  As  he  came 
upon  the  witness-stand,  it  was  apparent  that  a 
great  change  had  come  over  him.  Was  there 
such  a  pallor  upon  his  face,  or  was  it  the 
strange  yellow  light  of  that  strange  day  ?  His 
voice  had  sunk  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  he 
seemed  weak  and  uncertain  in  his  steps.  He 
quietly  answered  "  No "  to  the  long,  formal 
questions  involving  the  statements  which  had 
been  made  against  him,  and  that  closed  the 
evidence  in  the  case. 

The  counsel  "  summed  up  :  "  the  opposing 
counsel  assuming  and  urging  to  the  jury  that 
Jacob  was  the  profoundest  rascal  and  hypo- 
crite in  the  county,  and  Jacob's  lawyer  assert- 
ing that  Gotlieb  was  a  perjurer.  In  a  few 
words  the  court  charged  the  jury,  and  they 
were  sent  out,  in  the  keeping  of  three  officers, 
to  a  committee-room,  to  deliberate  and  find  a 
verdict. 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  91 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock;  the  court  ad- 
journed for  the  day.  It  had  been  a  dreadful 
day  to  Jacob.  He  had  not  imagined  that  his 
old  and  near  neighbors  could  look  upon  him 
as  a  rascal,  and  he  had  not  supposed  any  man 
living  would  have  dared  to  assail  his  good  name 
as  the  opposing  lawyer  had  assailed  it.  The 
revelation  of  these  facts,  the  strange  story  told 
by  Gotlieb,  and  the  gloom  of  the  strange  day 
seemed  to  mingle  in  a  dreadful  nightmare  as 
he  walked  to  the  hotel.  He  went  to  his  room, 
and  lay  down,  and  closed  his  eyes,  hoping  to 
rest.  The  scenes  of  the  day  were  as  vivid  be- 
fore him  as  a  picture.  And,  through  them,  he 
would  remember  from  time  to  time,  with  a 
sudden  sharp  throb,  the  dreadful  suspense  he 
was  under.  "  Suppose  the  jury  should  find 
against  him !  "  His  father  had  been  one  of  the 
consistory  of  a  church  when  living,  and  Jacob 
himself  had  long  been  a  church  member.  The 
hurt  to  his  reputation  and  to  the  family  name 
was  the  sharpest  sting. 

Jacob  got  up,  and  went  to  the  "  far  end  "  of 
the  hall  to  ask  Willie  to  come.  Willie's  room 


92  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

was  empty.  Jacob  came  back,  and  with  his 
wife  had  family  prayers  in  their  room.  It  was 
ten  o'clock.  His  anxiety  was  intense.  He 
knew  where  the  jury-room  was.  He  knew  that 
when  the  jury  agreed  they  would  seal  up  their 
verdict  and  separate,  because  the  judge  had 
told  them  to  do  so,  and  to  bring  in  their  ver- 
dict in  the  morning.  He  walked  up  to  the 
Capitol,  and,  looking  at  the  windows,  saw  that 
all  was  dark.  On  his  return  the  large  man 
was  in  the  hall,  up-stairs  near  his  door. 

"  I  think  the  jury  must  have  agreed,"  sug- 
gested Jacob  falteringly.  "  I  see  it  is  all  dark 
in  their  room." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  large  man,  glaring  at  him, 
and  speaking  with  a  withering  severity  in  his 
tone  and  manner  that  made  Jacob  shrink  as  if 
he  had  received  the  cut  of  a  whip-lash,  "  the 
jury  has  found  against  you  ;  I  heard  of  it  half 
an  hour  ago." 

Jacob's  eyes  fell,  and  the  great  misery  set- 
tled down  upon  his  heart.  He  turned  silently, 
and  walked  away  to  his  room.  What  was  the 
night  that  followed  to  Jacob  "Wilson?  Those 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  93 

who  have  suddenly  lost  a  good  name  may  per- 
haps understand  it. 

Jacob  did  not  stir  out  of  his  room  until 
court-time,  next  morning.  Then,  as  he  de- 
scended the  hotel  stairs,  every  one  seemed  to 
him  to  be  looking  at  him,  and  shunning  him. 
He  was  very  pale  and  weak,  and  walked  slowly, 
breathing  short.  He  had  a  century  of  family 
pride  behind  him ;  and  he  felt  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  meet  his  doom,  —  to  pass  under  a  cloud, 
that  might  never  be  lifted. 

As  he  walked  up  the  Capitol  steps,  a  man 
near  inquired  of  another,  "  Did  that  jury  agree 
last  night?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

"  How  did  they  find  ?  " 

"Ain't  supposed  to  know,"  said  the  other, 
indifferently. 

Jacob  passed  on  into  the  court-room.  The 
judge  was  just  taking  his  seat. 

"  Mr.  Clerk,"  said  the  judge,  "you  may  take 
the  verdict  of  that  jury  that  was  out  last  night. 
I  see  they  are  all  here." 

Jacob  had  not  yet  sat  down.     He  stood  by 


94  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

a  seat,  looking.  He  had  steeled  himself ;  he 
was  white  and  firm. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  clerk,  "  have  you 
agreed  upon  your  verdict  ?  " 

"  We  have,"  replied  the  foreman,  rising, 
and  handing  a  buff  envelope  to  an  officer. 
The  officer  carried  it  to  the  clerk.  The  clerk 
offered  it  to  the  judge. 

"  Open  it,"  said  the  judge,  sententiously. 

Jacob  saw  the  clerk  tear  open  the  envelope, 
unfold  the  paper  it  contained,  and  give  it  a 
long,  earnest  look. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  the  clerk, 
"  you  will  listen  to  your  verdict  as  the  court 
hath  recorded  it." 

Jacob  held  his  breath. 

"You  say  you  find,"  continued  the  clerk, 
"in  favor  of  the  plaintiff,  in  the  sum  of  eigh- 
teen hundred  and  fifty  dollars  ;  and  so  you  all 
say." 

The  jurymen  nodded. 

"  You  will  please  vacate  the  box,  gentle- 
men," said  the  judge.  "  Mr.  Clerk,  you  may 
now  draw  a  jury  in  ninety-seven." 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  95 

Jacob  stood,  his  eyes  glassy  for  a  moment, 
as  if  unconscious. 

"  Well,  you  are  all  right,"  said  an  officer 
who  stood  near  him  ;  and  the  officer  offered  to 
shake  hands  with  him.  Jacob  put  out  his 
hand  mechanically,  and  got  a  shake. 

A  hot  flush  was  seen  starting  up  from  Ja- 
cob's neck.  His  sensitive,  mobile  face  twisted 
and  worked ;  his  chin  quivered.  He  turned 
and  walked  toward  the  door.  He  staggered  j 
his  step  was  almost  that  of  an  intoxicated 
person. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  that  man  that 
just  went  out  ?  "  said  a  lawyer,  who  came  in  a 
moment  later,  to  an  officer  near  the  door. 

"  Got  a  verdict  in  that  insurance  case,  — 
full  amount.  Did  n't  expect  it,  I  s'pose,"  said 
the  officer,  indifferently. 

"  Kind  of  upset  him,  hey  ?  "  said  the  lawyer, 
laughing. 

"  Katherly,"  said  the  officer. 

Jacob  went  down  the  sidewalk  toward  the 
hotel.  People  did  in  reality  look  at  him  now, 
as  he  passed,  trying  to  hide  his  glad,  flushed 


96  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

face  and  the  tears.  He  got  to  the  room  and 
told  Mary,  and  they  had  what  the  landlord  de- 
scribed as  "  a  time."  The  landlord  said  that 
he  happened  up  there,  and  there  was  more 
praying  and  crying  than  was  allowable  in 
that  hotel.  As  the  painful,  nervous  strain 
was  taken  off,  Jacob  became  faint,  and  lay 
down,  and  Mary  went  out  and  got  him  a 
lemon. 

*  Soon  there  came  a  knock  at  Jacob's  door. 
It  was  the  large  man.  Jacob  sat  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed,  eating  the  lemon. 

"  I  really  must  beg,  Mr.  Wilson,  the  privi- 
lege of  making  an  apology,"  said  the  large 
man,  advancing  to  the  middle  of  the  room, 
resting  his  hand  upon  a  table,  and  speaking 
with  a  courtliness  and  respect  that  seemed  to 
lift  Jacob  up  into  a  position  of  importance. 

He  continued,  "  I  must  have  been  mis- 
informed by  the  officer  about  that  verdict  last 
night.  Of  course  we  know  there  has  been  too 
much  tampering  with  juries,  and  a  habit  of 
finding  out  verdicts  before  they  are  rendered. 
It  is  all  wrong,  certainly,  though  it  is  often 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  97 

done.  We  accept  the  deception  which  the 
jury  employed  to  mislead  the  officer  as  a 
very  proper  rebuke.  I  don't  want  you  to  lay 
up  anything  against  me  about  it." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Jacob. 

"  It 's  dreadful,  ain't  it  ?  —  burning  people's 
buildings  in  this  way,"  suggested  the  large 
man,  confidentially. 

"  Yes ;  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  a  crime," 
ventured  Jacob,  hesitatingly. 

"  Seems  to  be  a  sort  of  a  crime !  "  echoed 
the  large  man  explosively ;  "  why,  man  alive, 
it 's  arson,  state-prison,  long  term !  And  I  will 
find  him  out.  He  may  fool  the  people  down 
your  way,  with  his  blind  Dutchman,  who  can 
see  the  pegs  in  a  man's  boots  a  mile  off  in  the 
dark,  but  he  can't  fool  me.  There  is  a  villain 
behind  this,  and  we  are  after  him.  I  know 
him  now ;  I  am  sure  of  him.  I  am  watching, 
and  I  '11  jug  him  within  twenty-four  hours  ;  " 
and  in  saying  this,  by  way  of  emphasis,  the 
large  man  brought  his  fist  down  upon  the 
table  in  a  manner  that  made  the  whole  room 
jar. 

7 


98  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

"  And  that  was  what  you  were  watching  me 
for  ?  "  asked  Jacob  timidly,  shuddering  as  he 
saw  the  gulf. 

"Why,  my  dear,  good  fellow,"  said  the 
large  man,  softening,  uwhat  else  on  earth 
did  you  suppose  I  was  watching  you  for  ?  " 

Jacob  pondered,  and  was  silent.  The  large 
man  turned,  and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

Within  half  an  hour  the  president  of  the 
insurance  company  came  in.  He  said  he  de- 
sired to  congratulate  an  honest  man,  and  ex- 
plained, mysteriously,  that  they  were  on  the 
right  track  at  last.  He  remarked,  speaking  in 
a  confidential  manner,  that  he  had  always  told 
the  folks  that  Jacob  was  "  not  that  kind  of  a 
man." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jacob  huskily. 

"  You  and  your  father  before  you  have  lived 
in  our  town  too  long  to  be  treated  in  this 
way,"  said  the  president,  wiping  a  tear  from 
his  eye. 

The  president  went  away. 

One  by  one,  Jacob's  old  neighbors  and 
various  members  of  the  company  dropped  in, 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  99 

and  went  through  with  about  the  same  for- 
mula the  president  had  indulged  in.  Each 
explained  so  fully  and  satisfactorily  that  he 
had  all  the  while  told  the  folks  that  it  "  could 
not  be  Mr.  Wilson  "  that  did  it  that  Jacob 
really  began  to  wonder  how  it  had  come  about 
that  there  had  ever  been  any  difficulty.  Jacob 
also  gathered,  from  the  remarks  which  were 
made,  that  some  clew  had  been  gained  in  con- 
nection with  the  trial,  and  that  soon  all  would 
be  made  plain. 

After  a  good  dinner  Jacob  began  to  be  him- 
self again.  With  an  old  friend  and  neighbor 
he  went  up  to  the  Capitol  once  more,  as  a 
matter  of  curiosity.  He  saw  another  case  on 
trial,  —  that  of  a  suitor  who  was  struggling  to 
get  his  rights  from  a  railroad  corporation.  He 
heard  the  lawyer  for  the  railroad  company  al- 
lude to  the  suitor  as  the  most  barefaced,  un- 
scrupulous, and  designing  villain  who  had  ever 
perjured  himself  in  that  court-room.  Looking 
at  the  party  thus  described,  Jacob  saw  only  a 
thin,  pale  face,  on  which  anxiety  was  painfully 
written.  Jacob  perceived  that  his  own  case 


1 00  JACOB'S  INS  URANCE. 

was  only  one  of  many,  and  that  in  the  court- 
room it  had  already  been  forgotten. 

There  was  no  reason  why  Jacob  should  re- 
main longer  in  town.  At  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  he  and  Mary  were  in  their  wagon, 
in  front  of  the  hotel,  about  to  leave.  Just 
then  Willie  came  running  down  the  sidewalk 
in  great  excitement.  He  came  to  the  side  of 
the  wagon,  his  warm  brown  eyes  dancing,  and 
said,  with  what  breath  he  had  left,  "  Oh,  father, 
father,  they  have  found  it  all  out !  It 's  Andrew 
Venner,  and  they  have  got  him  in  jail." 

"  Andrew  Venner?  "  said  Jacob,  surprised  ; 
and  he  added,  turning  inquiringly  to  Mary, 
"  I  never  had  any  trouble  with  Andrew." 

Just  then  the  large  man  came  down  the 
sidewalk,  walking  very  rapidly.  He  said 
pleasantly  to  Jacob,  "Got  him  sure.  I  told 
you  so.  By  the  way,"  he  added,  turning  back 
after  he  had  passed,  "  did  you  ever  have  any 
difficulty  with  Andrew  Venner  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Jacob ;  "  only  he  worked 
for  me  one  time,  and  my  woman  here  did  n't 
seem  to  "  — 


JACOB'S  INSURANCE.  101 

"  Oh  —  oh  !  that  unspeakable  wretch !  " 
said  Mary,  coloring  painfully.  "  I  never  told 
anybody,  and  I  never  will,  only  if  Jacob  "  — 

"  Very  proper,  —  very  proper  indeed,  Mrs. 
Wilson,"  said  the  large  man  politely.  "  If  we 
should  need  you  on  the  trial  I  will "  —  and  he 
nodded  to  complete  the  sentence. 

A  boy  stopped  on  the  sidewalk,  evidently 
listening  curiously. 

"Drive  on,  Jacob,"  urged  his  wife,  in  a 
flurry. 

William  climbed  in  at  the  back  end  of  the 
wagon,  and  Jacob  started.  He  had  gone  but 
a  few  steps  when  he  pulled  up  his  horses,  and 
calling  back  said,  — 

"Oh,  say!" 

The  large  man  heard  it,  and  came  down  the 
walk  to  where  the  wagon  was. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me,  now  that  it  is 
all  over,"  said  Jacob  pleasantly,  "  whether  you 
really  heard  anything  about  that  verdict  last 
night,  or  whether  you  told  me  just  to  see  how 
I  would  "  — 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  large  man  deprecat- 


102  JACOB'S  INSURANCE. 

ingly,  "  I  beg  that  you  will  not  think  that  I 
would  willingly  distress  you  by —  Hullo,  there 
is  a  man  I  must  see  before  he  goes,"  and  the 
large  man  dashed  off  across  the  street. 

Jacob  looked  after  him  a  few  moments,  then 
gave  his  horses  a  cut  with  the  whip,  and  started 
for  home. 


MR.  TOBY'S   WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

1.  JOHN  TOBY  was  a  strong,  hearty 
man,  —  I  think  a  lumberman  and 
ship  -  builder.  I  made  his  acquaint- 
ance in  the  course  of  a  winter  that  I  spent  in 
Augusta,  Maine. 

His  next  appearance  to  me  was  in  Hudson, 
a  city  of  ten  thousand  people,  situated  on  the 
east  bank  of  the  river,  thirty  miles  below 
Albany.  I  was  attending  court  in  Hudson, 
and  had  my  boy  clerk,  Cookie,  with  me.  There 
came  a  rest  because  the  cases  were  not  ready, 
and  we  went  away  for  a  walk  upon  a  public 
square  or  promenade.  It  was  upon  a  bluff, 
which  has  a  perpendicular  face  rising  seventy 
feet  above  the  river.  Cookie  and  I  seated  our- 
selves upon  a  long  bench  placed  there  for  the 
convenience  of  visitors,  and  gazed  at  the  wide 
prospect. 


104         MR.   TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

In  the  foreground,  at  our  feet,  were  the 
river  and  the  boats,  and  on  the  farther  shore 
the  little  village  of  Athens.  Still  beyond,  a 
dozen  miles  away,  we  saw  a  wide,  green,  undu- 
lating valley,  shut  in  by  the  bold,  wooded  Cats- 
kills.  We  saw  the  Mountain  House,  —  like 
a  white  sheep  dotting  a  green  hill-side,  —  and 
knew  that  just  below  it  is  found  the  place 
where  Eip  Van  Winkle  slept  so  long.  As  we 
were  speculating  upon  the  exact  place  which 
Irving  intended,  Mr.  Toby  came  climbing  up 
a  side  path  from  the  landing  to  where  we  were. 
Cookie  and  I  were  alone  upon  the  promenade. 
Mr.  Toby  knew  me  at  once,  and  I  remembered 
his  kind,  genial  face  and  keen,  gray  eye,  and 
after  a  little  I  placed  him  correctly,  and  we 
shook  hands  very  cordially. 

"  Glorious  view,  —  is  n't  it  ?  "  he  exclaimed 
with  enthusiasm,  turning  toward  the  wide  land- 
scape. 

We  sat  down  and  drifted  into  conversation. 

After  some  general  remarks  Mr.  Toby 
said,  — 

"  I  never  was  here  but  once  before,  and  that 


MR.    TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY.        105 

was  twelve  years  ago.  I  had  the  queerest 
time  then  I  ever  had  in  my  life,  and  it  comes 
back  to  me  in  the  strangest  way !  Seeing  this 
scenery  is  the  reason,  I  suppose." 

I  encouraged  him  as  adroitly  as  I  could  to 
tell  us  what  he  had  on  his  mind. 

"The  truth  is,"  he  said,  "I  was  on  my 
wedding  journey  at  that  time.  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  about  it.  We  came  up  the  Hudson 
from  New  York  on  the  day-boat,  and  of  all 
delightful  rides  that  is  the  best.  It  was  in  the 
middle  of  summer,  just  as  it  is  now.  They 
had  music  on  board,  —  harps  and  fiddles  ;  and 
it  seemed  to  me  the  most  entrancing  combina- 
tion of  sounds  I  ever  listened  to.  I  suppose  it 
is  good  on  the  water.  There  is  a  glory  about 
a  hot  summer  day  here,  as  you  ride  along,  and 
see  the  cities  and  mountains  go  by,  that  I 
never  saw  anywhere  else.  I  imagine  it  must 
be  like  traveling  in  the  Holy  Land,  or  riding 
in  a  barge  on  the  Nile  in  the  time  of  Cleopatra. 

"  We  left  the  boat  here  at  Hudson,  and 
came  up  on  this  promenade,  and  sat  on  this 
very  bench.  Sarah,  because  of  being  a  little 


106        MR.   TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

near-sighted,  put  on  her  glasses  for  a  long 
shot,  and  was  greatly  taken  with  the  view. 
She  thought  the  mountains  over  there  were 
the  most  interesting  and  beautiful  sight  she 
ever  beheld.  When  we  found  in  the  guide- 
book that  right  down  there  below  the  Moun- 
tain House  was  where  Rip  Van  Winkle  slept, 
it  seemed  to  us  like  fairy-land.  I  do  not  think 
it  is  possible  to  convey  any  idea  of  how  happy 
we  were.  We  had  read  of  these  things  times 
enough,  but  to  actually  see  them  was  more  of 
a  show  than  you  might  suppose. 

"  But  there  was  one  thing  in  the  mean  time 
that  seemed  strange.  Right  down  there,  near 
those  iron-furnaces,  by  the  landing,  I  got  a 
glimpse  of  a  fellow  I  had  seen  on  the  boat.  I 
had  not  noticed  him  on  the  steamer  particu- 
larly, but  I  remembered  his  looks  when  I  saw 
him  by  that  old  building.  He  had  a  way  of 
dodging  behind  something,  whenever  I  turned 
my  face  toward  him,  that  I  had  noticed  on 
the  boat,  and  I  saw  he  did  the  same  here,  al- 
though he  was  so  far  away.  My  attention  was 
called  to  him  by  that. 


MR.   TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         107 

"  After  a  while  Sarah  and  I  went  down  to- 
ward the  landing  to  take  the  ferry  and  go  over 
the  river.  We  crossed,  and  one  of  the  first 
things  I  saw  after  we  got  to  Athens  was  that 
same  young  man,  dodging  behind  a  building. 
He  must  have  sneaked  across  in  some  way 
without  my  seeing  him.  I  thought  that  Sarah 
did  not  notice  him,  and  I  did  not  trouble  her 
about  it. 

"  We  took  a  team,  and  had  the  most  de- 
lightful wagon  ride  I  ever  had  in  my  life,  to 
Catskill  village,  and  over  toward  the  moun- 
tains. Sarah's  aunty,  Mrs.  Robinson,  a  widow 
woman,  was  living  in  a  little  house  near  the 
foot  of  the  mountain,  and  there  was  where  we 
were  going  to  put  up.  We  had  made  arrange- 
ments to  spend  a  month  there.  It  is  just  im- 
possible, I  say  again,  to  give  you  any  idea  of 
what  a  fairy-land  it  seemed  to  me.  Sarah  and 
I  had  both  read  up  on  this  wonderful  country 
just  before  we  came.  We  almost  expected  to 
see  Rip  Van  Winkle  in  the  place  they  show, 
where  he  slept,  about  half-way  up  the  moun- 
tain. Aunty  Robinson  was  one  of  the  kindest 


108        MR.   TOBFS    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

souls  that  ever  lived.  She  took  care  of  us  as 
if  we  had  been  her  own  children.  She  got  a 
team  and  driver  and  took  us  to  the  Mountain 
House,  and  we  went  and  saw  the  Falls  and  all 
the  wonders.  There  were  city  people  on  the 
mountain  and  through  the  country  everywhere, 
as  there  always  are,  I  understand,  up  here  at 
this  time  of  year.  It  is  handy  by  New  York, 
you  know,  and  a  good  place  to  run  to  in  hot 
weather. 

"  Well,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  I  saw,  every 
now  and  then,  that  young  man  dodging  out 
of  sight.  I  would  not  have  thought  so  much 
of  it  had  it  not  been  for  one  circumstance 
that  gave  point  to  it.  The  circumstance  was 
this.  One  evening  I  went  out  of  aunty's 
house  to  walk  up  the  road  a  little  ways  alone, 
by  moonlight.  The  mountains  and  the  spruce- 
trees  seem  strangely  like  a  panorama  or  a 
show-picture,  when  seen  in  that  way.  As  I 
stepped  out  of  the  house  and  off  the  piazza,  I 
saw  that  young  man  in  the  door-yard,  speering 
around,  and  looking  in  at  the  windows.  There 
was  lamp -light  inside,  and  he  could  see  the 


MR.   TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         109 

folks.  As  I  went  across  the  yard  to  the  front 
gate  he  turned  and  climbed  the  low  fence  and 
went  off  up  the  road.  I  confess  that  this 
worried  me  a  little.  I  do  not  believe  that  any 
man  who  has  been  married  less  than  a  month 
can  help  thinking*  that  his  wife  is  a  little  more 
than  common,  and  that  the  people  are  all 
anxious  to  get  a  look  at  her.  I  know  my  im- 
pression was  that  Sarah  was  better  than  other 
folks,  and  I  never  left  her  without  feeling  that 
it  would  be  safer  to  lock  her  up  so  that  no- 
body could  carry  her  off.  It  seemed  ridiculous 
to  be  jealous  of  that  young  man,  and  yet  the 
question  would  come  up,  What  he  could  be 
watching  us  for?  I  did  not  like  it.  If  he 
was  just  a  summer  visitor,  he  ought  to  have 
manners.  I  determined  to  speak  to  him  if  he 
came  around  again  looking  into  our  windows. 
I  do  not  think  any  ordinary  affair  would  have 
made  me  bother  aunty  and  Sarah  with  my 
troubles,  but  I  did  speak  of  this  matter  as 
soon  as  I  got  back  to  the  house.  I  told  them 
that  a  young  man  had  been  looking  in  at  the 
windows,  and  had  run  away  when  I  saw  him. 


110        MR.    TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

Aunty  thought  it  was  nothing  uncommon  in 
the  summer  time, -when  so  many  visitors  were 
in  the  neighborhood.  But  when  I  told  her  he 
had  been  in  the  door-yard  she  looked  at  it 
differently.  She  had  missed  a  few  things 
around  the  house,  including  some  clothes 
spread  on  the  grass  to  dry,  and  her  suspicions 
were  aroused. 

"  The  next  evening,  and  the  next,  I  got  a 
glimpse  of  the  young  man  again,  hanging 
about  the  premises  after  dark.  As  he  started 
off  up  the  road  in  his  customary  manner,  the 
third  evening,  I  made  bold  to  call  out  to  him, 
6  Hullo  there  ! '  The  moon  was  getting  up  a 
little  later  then,  so  that  I  had  only  a  very 
dim  sight  of  him.  I  could  see,  however,  that 
he  walked  on  without  paying  any  attention, 
and  disappeared  in  the  shadow  of  the  woods. 
I  went  into  the  house  and  related  the  incident. 
We  felt  that  the  thing  was  getting  serious.  It 
seemed  clear  that  something  ought  to  be  done. 
We  tried  to  get  a  little  fun  out  of  it  by  com- 
paring the  mysterious  stranger  to  Rip  Van 
Winkle,  but  Aunty  said  it  was  no  joking  mat- 


MR.    TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         Ill 

ter.  She  insisted  that  this  appearance  was 
connected  with  the  pilfering  which  had  been 
going  on  for  several  weeks.  When  I  presented 
the  idea  that  the  young  man  had  probably 
come  to  the  neighborhood  only  a  few  days  be- 
fore, as  I  had  seen  him  on  the  boat  near  New 
York,  she  was  not  convinced. 

"  It  was  decided  that  the  mystery  ought  to  be 
fathomed  in  some  way.  We  thought  of  telling 
the  neighbors  and  stirring  up  public  sentiment 
and  organizing  a  watch,  to  catch  the  young 
man ;  but  Aunty  said  she  would  not  have  the 
thing  get  out  for  the  world.  She  thought  it 
would  be  as  bad  as  if  the  house  were  haunted. 
There  was  a  multitude  of  idle  people  on  the 
mountains  and  in  the  valley,  who  had  come 
from  the  city  for  recreation,  and  they  would 
catch  up  anything  for  a  sensation.  The  idea 
of  a  house  haunted  by  a  mysterious  young  man 
would  be  as  good  as  a  ghost,  and  there  would 
be  an  account  of  it  in  the  newspapers  within 
twenty-four  hours  if  we  made  it  known  in  the 
neighborhood.  Aunty  was  really  alarmed  by 
the  thought  that  the  house  might  gain  an  un- 


112         MR.   TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

pleasant  notoriety.  Sarah  and  I  promised 
that,  whatever  might  happen,  we  would  keep 
still  about  the  young  man.  We  all  agreed  in 
the  opinion  that  the  matter  should  be  investi- 
gated. The  plan  was  for  me  to  stay  out  on 
the  piazza  in  the  shadow  and  watch,  and 
Aunty,  with  her  hired  girl  and  Sarah,  to  be  in 
the  house  in  the  usual  way.  If  the  mysterious 
stranger  came  into  the  yard,  I  was  to  speak  to 
him,  and  if  he  started  away,  it  would  be  my 
duty  to  follow  him  and  get  some  sort  of  ex- 
planation. Sarah  suggested  that  it  was  not 
safe  for  me  to  follow  an  unknown  man  off  alone 
in  the  dark,  and  indeed  it  was  not,  but  I  was 
willing  to  risk  it.  The  young  fellow  did  not 
seem  to  me  dangerous.  He  had  a  rather  boy- 
ish face.  It  did  come  into  my  mind  that  a 
revolver  would  be  handy,  but  I  never  carried 
one,  and  concluded  to  get  along  without  it  in 
this  instance. 

"  It  was  quite  dark  when  I  took  my  place 
on  the  piazza  under  the  shadow  of  some  vines. 
Just  at  my  right  hand  the  window  was  partly 
open,  and  the  light  was  streaming  out.  I  had 


MR.    TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         113 

not  been  there  ten  minutes  before  the  fellow 
put  in  an  appearance.  He  came  to  the  yard 
fence,  and  climbed  over  slowly.  Then  he  ad- 
vanced toward  the  piazza,  and  stood  looking 
with  the  light  from  the  window  full  in  his  face. 
He  had  a  good  enough  countenance.  It  was 
plump  and  hard,  without  any  great  expression, 
and  his  mouth  was  straight  and  hard  drawn. 
He  had  short,  dark  hair.  I  would  say  he  was 
not  much  used  to  being  in  the  weather.  He 
had  no  beard  on  his  face,  and  seemed  in  other 
ways  boyish.  He  wore  a  rough  suit  of  dark 
woolen,  and  had  a  small,  white,  soft  hat  on  his 
head. 

"  '  Well,  my  friend,'  said  I,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments, 6  what  can  we  do  for  you  ?  ' 

"  He  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  my  voice, 
and,  turning  away,  went  to  the  fence,  put  his 
hands  on  it,  and  climbed  slowly  over.  Then  he 
walked  up  the  road  toward  the  mountain.  The 
three  women  inside,  hearing  my  voice,  came  to 
the  door.  They  were  just  in  time  to  see  me 
start  in  pursuit.  I  had  provided  myself  with 
a  very  stout  cane,  which  was  in  fact  a  club. 
8 


114        MR.  TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

Going  out  through  the  front  gate  into  the  dark- 
ness, I  could  see  the  young  man,  not  more  than 
two  rods  from  me.  It  was  pokerish,  pursuing 
an  individual  who  might  turn  at  any  moment 
and  shoot  me  ;  but  having  undertaken  the  pur- 
suit, it  would  not  do  for  a  newly  married  man 
to  hesitate.  The  stranger  quickened  his  pace 
until  he  began  to  run,  and  I  followed  him, 
keeping  about  a  rod  behind  and  talking  to  him. 
I  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  haunting  our 
premises  night  after  night,  and  told  him  if  he 
would  stop  and  give  an  account  of  himself,  tha^ 
was  all  I  wanted.  I  did  not  talk  loud,  but  in 
a  persuasive  way,  feeling  a  little  scary,  I  con- 
fess. He  ran  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  —  until 
we  came  to  where  there  was  woods  on  both 
sides  of  the  road.  Then  he  slowed  up,  kind  of 
breathing  hard,  and  I  stepped  a  little  nearer 
to  him.  By  and  by  he  stopped  right  in  the 
road.  It  was  not  my  plan  to  go  close  up,  but 
I  went  within  six  or  eight  feet,  keeping  a  good 
clinch  hold  of  my  club. 

"  '  Who  are  you  ? '  said  I.     '  What  are  you 
hanging  around  houses  for  in  this  way  ? ' 


MR.   TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         115 

"  He  answered  in  a  light  voice,  '  You  had 
better  let  me  alone.' 

"  The  moment  he  spoke,  all  the  fear  I  had 
of  him  left  me.  To  tell  it  just  as  it  was,  I  be- 
gan to  scold  him.  It  would  do  no  harm  if 
Aunty  Robinson  heard  me.  He  did  n't  answer 
a  word,  but  just  stood  and  took  it.  Finally  I 
told  him,  as  I  became  eloquent,  that  it  was  a 
cowardly  thing  to  sneak  around  and  look  into 
windows  in  the  night,  that  he  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  himself ;  and  that  I  would  have  him 
arrested.  That  seemed  to  rouse  him,  and  he 
said  again  in  that  light  voice  of  his,  *  You  had 
better  let  me  alone.'  I  used  a  few  more  rough 
words,  and  he  put  his  hand  into  the  breast- 
pocket of  his  coat.  I  thought  he  was  after  a 
pistol,  and  partly  turned  to  run.  But  it  was 
not  that.  He  took  out  a  large,  yellow  letter 
envelope,  and  handed  it  to  me,  saying",  '  You 
may  as  well  have  it  first  as  last.  You  can  see 
me  here  to-morrow  night  if  you  come.' 

"  I  was  quite  near  to  him,  and  took  the  en- 
velope from  his  hand.  The  next  moment  he 
went  into  the  woods,  and  I  heard  the  brush 


116        MR.   TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

crack  as  he  poked  his  way  in  the  darkness, 
until  the  sound  died  in  the  distance,  and  he 
was  gone. 

"  With  the  envelope  in  my  hand,  I  went 
back  to  the  house,  pluming  myself  on  my  bold- 
ness in  the  adventure,  but  feeling  puzzled  in 
regard  to  its  termination.  As  I  came  to  the 
gate  the  women  were  there  waiting,  and  I  re- 
member to  this  day  how  Sarah  welcomed  me 
with  a  sly  caress  in  the  dark.  I  knew  she  was 
proud  of  me,  and  glad  to  have  her  aunty  see 
that  I  was  such  a  tremendous  fellow.  In  the 
still  summer  night  they  had  heard  me  talking 
loud  up  the  road.  I  told  them  all  about  my 
hostile  expedition,  so  to  speak,  and  about  the 
envelope,  and  we  went  into  the  house.  We 
gathered  around  the  table  on  which  the  lamp 
was  standing,  and  examined  the  outside  of  the 
little  package.  There  was  no  writing  on  it. 
It  was  not  sealed,  and  Aunty  pulled  out  the 
contents.  Some  old  letters,  apparently  much 
worn  by  carrying,  and  a  fresh  piece  of  paper 
with  a  little  writing  on  it,  and  a  tin-type  came 
to  the  light. 


MR.   TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         117 

"  Now  it  is  of  no  manner  of  use  for  me  to 
tell  you  about  women  and  how  they  act  under 
trying  circumstances.  I  will  merely  say  that 
when  Sarah  saw  the  letters  and  the  tin-type, 
and  glanced  at  the  writing  on  the  fresh  piece 
of  paper,  she  gave  a  screech  and  everything 
was  turned  into  confusion.  Aunty  Robinson 
began  crying  and  yanking  Sarah  around,  and 
they  did  everything  that  women  could  do  to 
make  a  disturbance.  The  hired  girl  flew  here 
and  there  in  a  fright.  I  tried  to  pull  things 
into  shape,  but  I  could  not  seem  to  do  the  least 
thing,  any  more  than  if  they  had  never  seen 
me  in  their  natural  lives.  Sarah  did  n't  seem 
to  even  know  who  I  was.  It  was  half  an  hour 
before  I  could  begin  to  get  the  thing  through 
my  head  at  all.  And  this  was  what  the  row 
was  about.  When  I  married  Sarah  she  was, 
in  a  certain  way,  a  kind  of  a  widow.  She  came 
to  Augusta,  where  I  courted  her,  and  told 
everybody  about  it.  There  was  no  conceal- 
ment. I  knew  it  perfectly  well.  There  had 
been  a  boy  in  Portland,  where  she  was  brought 
up,  named  Amos  Smith.  He  and  Sarah  had 


118        MR.    TOBY'S   WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

an  engagement,  boy  and  girl  fashion.  Along 
toward  the  last  of  the  war,  Amos  got  fired  up 
with  patriotism  and  a  big  bounty,  and  fear  of 
the  draft,  and  went  to  fight  the  battles  of  his 
country.  But  before  he  went,  Sarah  said  she 
was  not  going  to  stay  behind  and  risk  being 
one  of  the  girls  who  had  to  dangle  along  in 
the  hope  of  a  soldier  by  and  by.  She  had  seen 
too  much  of  that  sort  of  thing.  It  was  now  or 
never.  And  so,  two  hours  before  Amos  started 
with  his  company  for  the  South,  he  and  some 
of  the  boys  went  over  to  Smith's,  and  the  knot 
was  tied  good  and  strong. 

"  I  may  as  well  say  here  that  I  never  had 
seen  Amos  Smith.  But  I  am  told  that  he  was 
very  pious,  and  everybody  liked  him.  Young 
as  he  was,  he  used  to  lead  the  conference  meet- 
ings sometimes.  Perhaps  they  have  made  him 
out  handsomer  and  better  than  he  was.  It  is 
human  nature  to  think  well  of  the  departed. 

"  As  near  as  I  can  find  out  there  was  some 
crying  and  one  thing  and  another,  between 
Amos  and  Sarah  when  he  left ;  but  after  the 
news  came  that  he  was  among  the  crowd  of 


MR.   TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         119 

killed  and  buried  in  the  battles  of  the  Wilder- 
ness, they  tell  me  that  she  acted  like  a  very 
sensible  girl.  She  mourned  of  course,  but  she 
was  proud  of  her  noble  boy,  and  his  glorious 
death. 

"And  now  you  see  the  point.  I  married 
Sarah,  or  supposed  I  did,  more  than  four  years 
after  Amos  left  this  mortal  sphere.  And  here 
he  was  coming  to  life  again,  by  lamp-light, 
there  in  Aunty  Robinson's  house  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountain,  and  those  women  were  in  a 
more  distracted  state  than  any  other  human 
beings  I  ever  saw.  Aunty  Robinson  had  al- 
ways lived  in  Portland,  until  two  years  before, 
so  that  she  took  in  the  whole  thing  at  a  glance. 

"  She  finally  explained  it  to  me.  That  is, 
she  did  what  she  could  toward  it,  between  what 
you  might  call  fainting  spells,  and  sniffing  at 
the  camphor-bottle.  I  gave  up  trying  to  get 
anything  out  of  Sarah,  quite  early  in  the  in- 
vestigation. She  and  Aunty  had  managed  to 
put  the  papers  and  the  tin-type  out  of  sight, 
and  they  seemed  entirely  unable  to  comprehend 
my  desire  to  examine  them.  Of  course  I  ought 


120       MR.   TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

to  have  looked  at  them  first,  but  I  was  newly 
married,  and  did  not  understand  that  then.  I 
had  to  take  their  word  for  it  that  Amos  was 
still  in  the  flesh.  With  a  view  to  seeing  the 
proofs,  I  took  the  liberty  of  doubting  the  fact ; 
but  I  was  showered  with  reproaches  by  aunty, 
and  Sarah  became  more  and  more  cold  and 
forbidding.  I  had  supposed,  up  to  that  time, 
that  a  married  man,  or  one  who  had  supposed 
he  was  married,  still  had  the  right  to  exercise 
private  judgment,  but  I  found  out  my  mistake. 
It  became  clear  to  me  that  if  I  was  intending 
to  do  anything  with  these  women,  I  must  be- 
lieve that  which  they  passionately  asserted  in 
regard  to  the  bodily  existence  of  Amos  Smith. 
It  was  long  after  midnight  before  we  got  down 
to  anything  like  rational  talk.  They  did  show 
me  one  thing  at  last.  Aunty  had  received,  that 
very  afternoon,  from  Portland,  a  letter  signed 
by  an  old  neighbor,  Jared  Babcock,  which  con- 
veyed a  mysterious  warning,  that  a  strange 
thing  had  happened,  and  that  we  must  be  pre- 
pared for  it.  I  will  not  deny  that  this  let- 
ter knocked  me  completely  over.  We  had  a 


ME.   TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         121 

rough  night  of  it,  as  you  may  guess.  Aunty 
said,  as  it  drew  toward  morning,  that  it  seemed 
to  her  there  could  be  only  one  right  way.  She 
looked  wistfully  at  me  as  she  said  it.  '  In  the 
mean  time,'  she  suggested,  as  if  her  meaning 
had  been  clear,  '  Mr.  Toby  will  not  consider 
himself  Sarah's  husband.' 

"  Sarah  was  as  pale  as  a  white  apron,  and 
looked  down  and  never  said  a  word. 

"  It  is  not  my  way,"  explained  Mr.  Toby, 
taking  his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  "  to 
make  fun  of  serious  subjects.  If  anybody 
wishes  to  know  how  I  felt  just  then,  all  I  can 
say  is  that  I  felt  the  very  worst  way,  —  the 
very  worst." 

I  noticed  that  a  tear  stole  down  the  cheek 
of  the  talker  as  he  said  this,  and  Cookie's 
bright,  sympathetic  face  was  very  sorrowful. 

"  I  had  begun  to  understand,"  continued  Mr. 
Toby,  "  that  it  was  hard  to  be  a  bachelor  before 
I  married.  I  was  thirty-four  years  old.  I  had 
never  known  what  it  was  to  really  live  until 
the  last  few  months.  It  had  been  a  great  deal 
more  to  me  than  I  can  explain,  to  get  away 


122        MR.   TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

from  a  life  of  loneliness  into  the  social  sun- 
shine. I  had  tried  as  a  single  man  to  carry 
my  head  high,  but  after  I  was  thirty,  the  joke 
was  always  against  me.  And  then  there  are 
sacred  feelings  which  I  will  not  mention.  It 
seemed  a  bitter,  cruel  thing,  to  have  all  this 
end  in  a  farce. 

"But  I  was  not  wholly  selfish.  I  do  not 
mean  to  show  myself  worse  than  I  was.  I 
could  not  look  at  Sarah  and  think  how  she 
stood  in  the  affair  without  a  shudder.  People 
would  pity  and  they  would  laugh. 

"  As  it  began  to  be  daylight,  we  pretended 
to  go  to  rest.  Aunty  Robinson  showed  me  into 
a  little  back  bedroom,  and  took  '  Mrs.  Smith  ' 
with  her,  to  her  own  room. 

"  This  was  felt  to  be  right,  but  it  was  very 
trying  to  my  feelings.  It  was  my  notion,  first, 
to  call  Sarah  Mrs.  Smith.  Perhaps  there  was 
a  spice  of  malice  in  it.  I  do  not  think  any 
man  could  keep  his  temper  under  the  circum- 
stances I  have  described.  Of  course  I  was 
sorry  immediately  after  I  had  said  Mrs.  Smith. 
Yet  it  was  received  as  all  right  and  proper, 


MR.   TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         123 

which  hurt  me  a  great  deal  more  than  I  would 
have  been  hurt  by  tears  or  reproaches. 

"  About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  were 
moving  about  the  house  again.  I  do  not  think 
any  one  of  us  had  touched  a  bed,  but  we  made 
believe.  We  said,  '  Good  morning,'  very  cere- 
moniously. That  is,  Mrs.  Robinson  and  I  did. 
Sarah  did  not  appear.  Mrs.  Robinson  said, 
speaking  in  a  formal  manner,  that  Mrs.  Smith 
was  not  feeling  very  well,  —  as  if  that  was 
news  !  It  soon  appeared  that  Mrs.  Robinson 
had  reached  a  consoling  conclusion,  at  which  I 
also  had  arrived  in  my  nightly  reflections. 
She  said,  as  we  sat  down  to  breakfast,  that 
Amos  must  be  induced  to  give  up  Sarah,  if 
possible.  The  ceremony  by  which  he  had 
united  himself  to  her  had  been  merely  a  form, 
while  Sarah  and  I  were  like  old  married  folks, 
and  it  would  not  do  in  families  of  such  high 
standing  as  ours,  to  break  up  the  union.  It 
must  not  be,  on  Sarah's  account,  if  for  no 
other  reason.  The  good,  kind  soul  urged  and 
argued  this  point,  just  as  if  I  were  not  already 
convinced,  and  more  eager  to  accept  the  doc- 
trine than  she  could  be  to  have  me. 


124         MR.   TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

" '  I  know  Amos  well,'  "  said  Aunty.  "  '  He 
is  generous,  and  true-hearted,  and  poor.  And 
he  always  was  so  conscientious !  I  hope  it 
will  not  kill  him  to  give  up  Sarah.  I  have  al- 
ready telegraphed  to  Sarah's  father  to  come, 
and  if  he  had  not  started  for  home,  but  was 
still  in  New  York,  he  will  be  here  to-morrow, 
you  can  be  sure.  The  thing  for  you  to  do  is 
to  see  Amos  this  evening,  and  talk  the  mat- 
ter up.  He  has  some  claim.  He  let  Sarah's 
brother  have  part  of  his  bounty  money,  two 
hundred  dollars,  when  he  went  away;  and  of 
course  he  ought  to  have  it  again,  and  you 
must  be  liberal.' 

"  *  Dear  Aunty  Robinson,'  said  I  with  tears 
in  my  eyes,  '  do  you  suppose  money  is  of  any 
account  in  such  a  matter  as  this  ? ' 

"  She  put  down  her  knife  and  fork,  looked 
at  me  through  her  glasses  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  began  to  cry. 

"  The  breakfast  did  not  help  us  much.  As 
to  dinner,  I  do  not  think  we  had  any;  and 
how  it  ever  came  to  be  evening  I  cannot  tell. 
But  undoubtedly  the  sun  went  down  as  usual ; 


MR.    TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY.        125 

for  I  remember  that,  after  the  longest  day  I 
ever  spent  in  my  life,  it  began  to  grow  dark, 
and  I  started  out  toward  the  woods  to  meet 
Amos.  There  was  one  little  circumstance 
occurred,  just  as  I  was  starting,  that  married 
men  will  understand  the  force  of.  Sarah  came 
out  on  the  piazza  in  the  dark,  and  took  hold  of 
me.  I  had  not  seen  her  at  all  during  the  day. 
When  she  slid  from  the  door  unexpectedly, 
and  got  me  around  the  neck,  it  produced  an 
effect  on  my  feelings  and  nervous  system  that 
I  will  not  try  to  describe.  It  makes  me  cry  if 
I  think  of  it  too  long,  even  now.  It  is  enough 
to  say,  without  going  into  particulars,  that  it 
became  clear  to  me  from  that  moment  that  I 
was  still  a  married  man,  and  I  felt  that  Amos 
had  no  chance.  I  will  merely  mention,  leav- 
ing out  the  details,  that  when  Sarah  left  me,  I 
found  my  club  and  started  up  the  road,  ready 
to  smash  Amos  to  flinders. 

"  I  reached  the  appointed  place  in  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  and  waited  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  in  the  dark  and  the  stillness.  In  the 
mean  time  my  surplus  courage  ebbed  away, 


126        MR.    TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

and  the  real  facts  came  before  me.  Just  as  I 
was  reflecting  upon  the  need  of  caution,  I 
heard  the  brush  crack  in  the  woods,  and  a 
minute  later  I  descried  a  form  in  the  road. 

"  '  Is  that  you  ? '  I  asked. 

" '  I  am  here,'  replied  Amos,  in  the  same 
light  voice,  which  I  now  remembered  so  well. 

"  We  got  into  conversation  immediately,  and 
I  said,  'You  are  Amos  Smith,  of  Portland,' 
and  he  said, '  Yes,  Mr.  Toby,  I  am.'  One  thing 
led  on  to  another,  until  at  last  I  asked  him 
whether  he  could  give  up  Sarah,  or  what  his 
ideas  were.  He  seemed  to  be  a  still  kind  of 
fellow,  and  did  not  answer  me  directly.  It 
appeared  as  if  he  was  willing  to  let  me  do  all 
the  talking.  Finally,  he  asked  if  I  would  go 
with  him  into  the  woods,  to  his  caboose  as  he 
termed  it,  where  he  said  we  could  talk  it  over. 
I  did  not  really  like  the  idea,  but  I  poked 
through  the  brush  after  him.  He  took  me 
nearly  half  a  mile  to  a  kind  of  camp,  where 
he  liad  fixed  a  warm-weather  sleeping  place. 
There  was  a  little  fire  burning  on  the  ground, 
and  some  old  boards  leaning  against  a  log, 


MR.   TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         127 

making  a  shelter  under  which  he  could  crawl. 
He  explained  that  he  was  hard  up,  and  obliged 
to  camp.  We  kind  of  lay  down  on  the  ground 
by  the  fire  to  talk.  It  was  as  strange  a  place 
as  I  ever  was  in.  The  queer  thing  about 
Amos  was  his  extreme  reticence.  I  had  to  in- 
troduce every  subject.  Finally,  I  asked  him 
square  whether  there  was  not  some  way  we 
could  arrange  it  about  Sarah,  provided  prop- 
erty matters  could  be  made  all  right  in  his 
favor.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  Amos  made  a 
speech.  He  said  he  knew  it  was  a  dreadful 
thing  for  him  to  come  down  on  me  the  way  he 
had,  but  that  he  had  been  compelled  to  do  it. 
Sickness  and  other  terrible  calamities  of  some 
indefinite  sort  were  alluded  to.  It  was  on  my 
tongue  to  ask  him  where  he  had  been  all  this 
time,  and  how  it  happened  that  he  was  not 
killed,  and  why  they  had  not  heard  from  him 
in  Portland  ;  but  before  I  had  time  to  do  that, 
he  concluded  his  speech  in  the  following  re- 
markable words,  which  knocked  everything 
else  out  of  my  mind  :  — 

" '  And  now,  Mr.  John  Toby,  of  Augusta, 


128        MR.    TOBY'S    WELDING  JOURNEY. 

Maine,  I  am  not  a  man  who  trifles.  If  you 
bring  me  seven  hundred  dollars  within  three 
days,  you  will  never  see  me  again.  I  will  go 
West,  and  send  you  a  copy  of  the  divorce  pa- 
pers, so  that  you  can  marry  your  wife  legally 
and  all  right.  But  if  you  don't,  I  shall  go  and 
see  her ;  and  if  she  and  I,  or  her  folks  and  I, 
meet,  that  is  the  end  of  it.  I  shall  claim  her 
and  have  my  rights.  You  can  take  your 
choice.  There  it  is,  and  I  mean  just  what  I 
say.  If  you  have  any  change  with  you  to  bind 
the  bargain,  that  will  be  our  contract.' 

"  I  do  not  claim  to  be  unusually  bright," 
said  Mr.  Toby,  looking  keenly  at  me  and  then 
at  Cookie ;  "  but  when  I  heard  that  speech  I 
comprehended.  The  words  and  manner,  and 
everything  about  it,  seemed  like  a  dime-novel. 
It  was  anything  but  natural.  And  I  claim 
that  the  fact  that  I  was  sitting  by  a  miserable, 
lying,  thieving  vagabond  was  made  just  as 
plain  to  me  that  minute,  as  though  I  had 
known  him  a  thousand  years.  The  whole 
thing  flashed  upon  me,  as  if  I  had  been  struck 
by  lightning.  The  folks  will  try  to  have  it  to 


MR.   TOBTS   WEDDING  JOURNEY.         129 

this  day,  that  I  did  n't  understand  it  at  the 
time ;  but  I  did,  although  I  had  presence  of 
mind  enough  to  restrain  my  feelings.  If  the 
other  fellow  had  been  reticent,  it  was  my  turn 
now,  and  I  sat  as  glum  and  still  as  a  stump, 
and  looked  at  the  fire.  Of  course  I  don't 
deny  that  I  agreed  with  him  that  I  would  see 
about  raising  the  seven  hundred  dollars,  and  I 
was  justified  in  doing  that.  But  what  I  claim 
is,  that  after  he  made  that  speech  the  whole 
thing  seemed  to  me  like  the  side-show  to  a  cir- 
cus. I  did  not  believe  in  it. 

"  It  would  be  nonsense  for  me  to  deny,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Toby,  reddening,  "  that  I  gave  him 
what  loose  change  I  had  in  my  pocket.  But 
then  he  was  in  destitution,  and  I  would  have 
given  him  that  any  way.  It  is  true  I  had  left 
my  pocket  -  book  at  the  house,  but  the  idea 
that  I  would  have  given  that  scamp  any  great 
amount  of  money  is  preposterous.  We  ar- 
ranged that  I  could  come  at  any  time  and  see 
him  at  his  caboose,  and  pay  him  the  money. 
He  said  he  would  be  there  most  of  the  time, 
and  if  he  was  away  I  could  wait  for  him.  I 

9 


130         MR.   TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

was  to  meet  him  every  evening  at  any  rate,  in 
the  road.  He  showed  me  the  way  for  a  few 
rods,  and  then  we  parted,  and  I  went  back,  all 
rignt,  to  the  house. 

"  Now  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  would 
be  useless  to  try  to  convince  those  women  that 
the  chap  I  had  talked  with  was  not  the  sainted 
Amos,  and  I  had  no  proof  but  what  he  was. 
I  did  not  know  of  any  way  to  make  it  plain  to 
them  that  he  was  a  vagabond  and  a  fraud. 
And  so  I  let  it  go  that  he  was  Amos,  and  told 
them  it  was  all  right,  and  that  he  only  wanted 
seven  hundred  dollars.  Aunty  was  dissolved 
in  tears  at  the  moderation  of  the  conscientious 
young  man,  and  hoped  I  had  not  been  too  hard 
with  him.  Sarah  wiped  her  eyes  with  her 
apron,  and  said  she  was  sure  her  father  would 
pay  it,  because  he  and  her  brother  had  part  of 
Amos's  bounty  money.  When  I  explained  that 
Amos  was  camping  in  the  woods  because  he 
was  without  means,  Mrs.  Eobinson  was  so  af- 
fected by  the  noble  character  suggested,  that 
she  not  only  shed  tears,  but  went  to  her  pantry 
and  lighted  her  globe  lantern,  insisting  that  I 


MR.    TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         131 

should  take  it  and  go  back  through  the  woods 
and  pilot  the  poor  boy  to  the  hotel,  which  was 
a  mile  away.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  persuade 
her  out  of  it. 

"  There  is  no  use  of  spinning  out  a  story," 
said  Mr.  Toby,  rising  and  gazing  up  the  river, 
with  the  avowed  object  of  seeing  whether  the 
down  boat  for  New  York  was  coming.  As  the 
boat  was  not  in  sight,  he  sat  down  again,  and 
resumed  as  follows  :  — 

"  Well,  we  slept  some  that  night,  and  the 
next  day  waited  for  Sarah's  father  to  come, 
before  doing  anything.  He  came  in  the  after- 
noon. He  was  a  cool-headed  man,  and  had 
seen  a  thing  or  two.  He  heard  all  the  women 
had  to  say,  and  compelled  them  to  let  him  see 
all  they  had  to  show  in  the  way  of  evidence. 
Then  he  and  I  went  out  in  the  wood  shed.  He 
looked  me  straight  in  the  eye,  and,  said  he, 
'  John,  do  you  think  that  fellow  is  Amos 
Smith?'  I  said,  'No,  I  don't.'  And  he 
said,  '  Nor  I  either.'  And  he  said,  '  Amos 
was  killed  in  the  war.  And  how  it  happens 
that  this  fellow  has  got  hold  of  Sarah's  letters 


132         MR.   TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

I  don't  know,  but  I  dare  say  he  was  acquainted 
with  Amos  in  the  army.  It  is  queer  all  round. 
I  think  some  of  the  writing  is  a  forgery.  I 
don't  believe  Jared  Babcock  ever  wrote  that 
letter ;  and  that  new  letter  cannot  have  been 
written  by  Amos,  although  it  is  like  his  writ- 
ing, I  must  say.* " 

The  narrator  paused  a  moment,  as  if  re- 
flecting. 

"  Did  you  find  out  who  it  was  afterward  ?  " 
asked  Cookie  eagerly. 

"  Wait  until  you  hear,"  said  Mr.  Toby. 
"  The  short  of  it  is,  I  was  sent  at  evening  to 
meet  Amos,  or  whoever  he  was,  again.  But  he 
failed  to  come  that  time.  So  the  next  morn- 
ing I  went  up  to  his  caboose  before  breakfast, 
bound  to  find  out  the  facts.  I  had  more  than 
a  hundred  different  things  enjoined  upon  me 
to  do  and  to  ask  before  I  started.  Between 
Aunty  and  Sarah's  father,  there  was  110  end 
to  the  instructions.  They  were  laying  all  kinds 
of  traps  to  find  out  whether  it  was  Amos. 

"  Well,  I  got  to  the  place  all  right,  and 
looked  around.  It  did  not  seem  so  pokerish 


MR.    TOST 8    WEDDING  JOURNEY.        133 

by  daylight.  There  was  no  fire  burning,  and 
I  could  see  that  it  had  been  out  a  good  while, 
for  there  was  no  smoke. 

"  We  had  been  planning,  before  I  left  the 
house,  to  have  the  whole  party  creep  up  some- 
time during  the  day  behind  the  bushes,  and 
see  if  it  was  Amos,  while  I  talked  with  him. 
So  I  looked  around  to  find  out  if  there  was  a 
place  handy  where  they  could  hide.  Then  I 
stepped  up  to  where  the  boards  were,  and 
stooped  down  and  looked  under  them.  I  saw 
something  there,  and  stooping  lower,  it  became 
clear  that  it  was  a  man,  and  then,  that  it  was 
the  one  I  was  looking  for.  He  did  not  move 
when  I  spoke.  I  thought  at  first  he  was 
asleep,  and  imagined  I  heard  a  snore." 

"  Was  he  drunk?  "  asked  Cookie. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  work  up  an  excitement 
over  this  thing,"  continued  Mr.  Toby,  with  a 
serious  air.  "  To  be  plain  about  it,  he  was  just 
lying  under  there,  a  stark,  cold,  dead  man.  Of 
course  it  gave  me  an  awful  kind  of  shock  to 
find  him  there  alone.  But  I  had  found  a  boy 
that  way  once  before,  off  in  a  lot  up  in  Maine  ; 


134        MR.   TOBTS   WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

and  I  don't  think  I  was  as  much  worked  up 
over  it  this  time  as  most  folks  would  have 
been.  I  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  that  kind  of 
thing  too,  in  a  hospital,  at  one  time. 

"  We  gave  notice,  and  there  was  an  inquest 
according  to  law.  And  it  was  found  out  that 
the  fellow  was  just  that  kind  of  a  vagabond  I 
had  thought  he  was.  Whether  he  died  of  heart 
disease,  or  by  taking  some  of  the  drugs  found 
in  his  vest  pocket,  was  not  exactly  clear.  It 
was  told  by  somebody,  and  found  to  be  true, 
that  he  had  served  a  three  years'  term  at  Sing 
Sing,  just  down  the  river  here,  and  had  only 
been  out  of  prison  two  months." 

Mr.  Toby  ceased  his  narrative,  and  looked 
contemplatively  toward  the  mountains,  appar- 
ently absorbed  in  thought.  I  was  about  to 
speak  when  he  said,  — 

"  I  have  told  you  this  just  as  it  seemed  at 
the  time.  But  there  was  a  secret  in  it  that  we 
kept  close  for  a  long  while,  and  nobody  sus- 
pected. Before  we  gave  notice,  Sarah's  father 
and  Aunty  and  Sarah  and  I  went  to  get  a 
look  at  the  dead  man.  They  wanted  to  see 


MR.    TOBY'S    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         135 

who  it  was.  We  crept  slyly  through  the 
woods.  It  was  a  bright  sunshiny  morning. 
As  we  came  near  the  place,  there  was  a  dry, 
mossy  spot  where  Aunty  and  Sarah  sat  down 
to  wait,  while  Sarah's  father  and  I  went  ahead 
to  see.  When  we  got  to  the  caboose  I  pulled 
a  board  away,  and  let  in  the  bright  light. 
Sarah's  father  put  on  his  specs  and  got  down 
pretty  close  to  look.  When  he  straightened 
up,  I  could  see  that  something  was  the  matter. 
And  as  true  as  I  sit  here,  and  after  all  I  have 
told  you,  that  poor,  miserable,  prison -bird 
and  vagabond  was  Amos  Smith,  of  Portland, 
Maine,  —  and  may  God  have  mercy  on  his 
soul ! " 

Mr.  Toby  evidently  felt  this  announcement 
to  be  a  very  important  one.  His  voice  was 
broken  as  he  uttered  it ;  his  large  hands  trem- 
bled, and  soon  his  feelings  found  relief  in  tears. 

We  sat  for  a  while  longer,  and  heard  how 
Amos  had  been  put  away  in  a  corner  of  a  little 
yard,  where  his  folks  could  find  him  if  they 
should  ever  care  to,  and  how  his  history  had 
been  concealed  from  them  until  the  sharpest 


136        MR.   TOBTS   WEDDING  JOURNEY. 

sting  of  it  had  passed  away.  All  the  public 
ever  knew  of  it  was  that  a  tramp  from  Sing 
Sing  had  been  found  dead  near  the  road.  It 
was  not  an  unusual  occurrence  in  this  thronged 
and  busy  valley.  A  careless  newspaper  para- 
graph was  the  sole  record  of  the  event. 

"  Didn't  want  to  live,  did  he?"  suggested 
Cookie,  in  a  pause  of  the  conversation. 

"That  is  just  what  I  tell  the  folks,"  re- 
sponded Mr.  Toby.  "  When  he  saw  Sarah,  I 
suppose  it  brought  back  old  times.  I  do  not 
wonder  that  he  crept  around  and  peeked  in 
through  the  window.  It  is  my  opinion  that  he 
ended  his  days  with  the  drugs;  I  have  no 
doubt  of  it.  And  it  makes  my  heart  ache  when 
I  think  of  the  boy  dying  alone  over  there  in 
the  woods,  —  Hullo,  there  comes  the  down 
boat,  and  I  must  go.  I  am  traveling  alone 
this  time,  and  just  walked  up  here  to  wait. 
This  talk  has  done  me  a  world  of  good.  If 
you  ever  come  our  way,  call.  Good-by,  sir, 
good-by."  And  with  a  shake  of  the  hand  for 
each  of  us,  he  was  gone. 

We  watched  him  as  he  hastened  down  the 


MR.   TOBTS    WEDDING  JOURNEY.         137 

path  to  the  landing,  and  as  he  went  on  board ; 
then  we  watched  the  steamer  as  it  bore  him 
southward,  while  he  stood  on  deck  waving 
his  yellow  handkerchief  and  bowing  farewell. 
The  soft  notes  of  a  flute  and  the  music  of  harps 
and  of  viols  came  back  to  us  from  the  boat,  as 
it  was  slipping  away  through  the  blue  gleam- 
ing water. 

As  we  looked  and  listened  the  form  of  Mr. 
Toby  blended  with  the  crowd,  and  the  dulcet 
sounds  fainted  and  died  in  the  sunshine.  Then 
Cookie  and  I  discussed  our  visitor's  story» 
Except  the  wedding  feature,  how  like  it  was  to 
the  dull  monotony  of  a  narrative  that  is  con- 
stantly repeated  in  the  cities  of  the  valley : 

A  poor  boy  from  a  far  country  came  to  this 
fairy-land  ;  he  dreamed,  he  forgot  the  light  of 
home,  he  wandered  and  is  lost. 


HATTIE'S   ROMANCE. 

jjT  began  in  that  little  brick  house  near 
the  willows,  on  the  margin  of  the  river, 
just  within  the  southern  bounds  of 
Albany.  From  those  upper  windows  Hattie 
looked  out  upon  the  Hudson  and  the  distant 
Catskills. 

Hattie's  romance  seemed  unfortunate.  She 
gave  her  heart  away  to  a  young  man  before  she 
had  seen  him  half  a  dozen  times,  and  while  yet 
there  was  scarcely  a  speaking  acquaintance 
between  them.  She,  with  her  widowed  mother, 
had  started  out  upon  that  dangerous  womanly 
enterprise,  "  taking  a  few  boarders."  Such  an 
enterprise  is  justly  termed  dangerous  in  a  large 
and  wicked  city,  because  of  the  social  risks  in- 
volved. In  this  very  instance  beautiful  little 
Hattie  was  fascinated  by  the  second  boarder 
who  came  to  the  house.  He  was  a  handsome 


HATTIE'S  ROMANCE.  139 

man,  a  Frenchman,  twenty-three  years  of  age, 
with  dark  curling  hair,  blue  eyes,  and  red  cheeks. 
Hattie  was  sixteen,  well  read  in  the  "  New  York 
Weekly,"  and  looking  for  a  hero.  Within 
three  days  after  Monsieur  Leclerc,  the  French- 
man, presented  himself,  this  girl  was  his  secret 
worshiper.  She  thought  of  him  constantly 
when  awake,  and  dreamed  of  him  when  asleep. 
Her  pretty  hazel  eyes  watched  for  his  coming 
and  going  as  if  he  had  been  the  only  man  in 
the  whole  world. 

In  the  course  of  a  couple  of  months  this 
affair  became  very  serious.  Hattie,  without 
any  basis  in  reality,  was  feeding  her  heart  with 
wishes,  —  they  could  hardly  be  called  hopes. 
She  was  reserved  and  retiring.  As  time  wore 
on  she  did  not  make  the  familiar  acquaintance 
of  her  hero,  and  received  little  or  no  attention 
from  him.  Her  fancies  resulted  in  an  increase 
of  sensitiveness  and  in  shyness  on  her  parjb 
which  tended  to  prevent  the  acquaintance  she 
desired.  Her  way  seemed  to  her  youthful  in- 
experience hedged  up.  She  wildly  imagined  at 
times  in  her  anxiety  that  she  would  do  so  in- 


140  HATTI&S  ROMANCE. 

discreet  a  thing  as  to  write  a  letter  to  her  idol, 
imploring  his  pity  and  regard,  or,  if  that  were 
impossible,  his  departure.  She  even  went  so 
far  on  one  occasion,  at  midnight,  as  to  write 
such  an  epistle,  when  she  ought  to  have  been 
asleep.  And  a  very  poorly  written  letter  it 
was,  no  doubt.  She  had  enough  discretion  re- 
maining, however,  to  burn  the  letter  at  the  last 
moment,  instead  of  leaving  it  in  the  young 
man's  room,  as  she  had  intended. 

Hattie  was  a  Sunday-school  scholar,  and  was 
rarely  absent  from  her  class  at  the  little  stone 
church  around  the  corner.  She  had  too  much 
conscience  and  too  much  good  training  to  really 
think  of  drowning  herself  in  the  Hudson  River. 
Nevertheless,  she  eventually  reached  a  state  of 
mind  in  which  the  wish  to  become  an  angel  was 
not  a  musical  or  poetic  aspiration  merely ;  it 
was  a  very  sincere  desire  in  her  case.  And  it 
is  not  to  be  concealed  that  on  a  particular  Sun- 
day afternoon,  when  monsieur  was  out  walking 
with  a  young  lady,  Hattie  went  down  by  the 
river  and  stood  on  the  dock,  and  looked  pen- 
sively into  the  deep  water  for  a  long  time.  This 


HATTIE'S  ROMANCE.  141 

was  observed  by  others.  It  was  noticed  also 
that  she  was  becoming  anxious.  Her  mother 
did  not  suspect  the  cause.  Hattie's  secret  was 
known  only  to  herself. 

In  the  mean  time  monsieur  went  to  his  busi- 
ness in  the  city  every  day,  came  to  his  meals 
regularly,  and  enjoyed  a  good  appetite.  Was 
he  unconscious  of  the  influence  he  was  exert- 
ing? 

Here  the  scene  changes. 

Soon  after  matters  had  taken  the  shape  just 
described,  Hattie  found  herself  in  the  City  Hall, 
in  the  court-room.  She  was  sitting  among  the 
witnesses,  and  was  dazed  and  bewildered  by 
the  strange  sights  which  met  her  unaccustomed 
gaze. 

The  County  Judge  and  two  Associate  Justices 
constituted  a  Court  of  Sessions  for  the  trial  of 
criminals.  A  disagreeable  crowd  surged  and 
swayed  in  the  farther  part  of  the  long,  lofty 
room.  The  crowd  was  prevented,  by  a  high 
railing  and  by  court  officers,  from  intruding 
upon  the  broad  open  space  in  front  of  the  bench. 
This  space  was  reserved  for  the  lawyers,  the 


142  H ATT  IKS  ROMANCE. 

jurymen,  and  the  witnesses.  Hattie  noticed 
that  there  was  no  woman  in  the  room  except 
herself.  The  prosecuting  officer  was  the  Dis- 
trict Attorney  of  the  county.  The  hour  was 
ten  A.  M.  It  seemed  to  our  heroine  that  the 
Judge  and  the  lawyers  were  very  rude  and 
harsh  in  their  treatment  of  each  other. 

"  Mr.  District  Attorney,"  said  the  Judge, 
"  you  ought  to  have  your  cases  ready,  and  not 
delay  the  Court.  This  is  the  third  morning 
we  have  been  here  without  business." 

"  I  do  not  receive  any  reprimand  from  this 
Court,  sir,"  said  the  District  Attorney,  sharply. 
"  I  do  not  accept  it  or  submit  to  it  in  any  de- 
gree. I  wish  to  suggest  that  I  am  not  a  crea- 
ture of  this  Court.  I  am  elected  by  the  people 
of  this  county,  and  I  am  responsible  to  them 
for  the  manner  in  which  I  discharge  my  duties." 

"  All  right ;  keep  cool,"  said  the  Judge,  with 
laconic  brevity  and  provoking  indifference,  as 
he  stroked  his  long  white  mustache. 

A  policeman  came  into  the  room,  and  step- 
ping up  to  the  District  Attorney,  whispered  to 
him.  The  District  Attorney  nodded  mysteri- 
ously. 


HATTIE'S  ROMANCE.  143 

"  We  are  ready  in  that  burglary  case  in  River 
Street,  if  the  Court  please,"  said  the  District 
Attorney,  brightening. 

"  Do  you  move  the  case  ?  "  asked  the  Judge, 
taking  a  pen  and  hitching  forward  to  his  desk. 

"  Yes,  your  Honor,  I  move  the  case  of  The 
People  against  M.  Adolphe  Leclerc,"  re- 
sponded the  public  prosecutor,  in  a  loud,  per- 
functory tone. 

"  Is  the  prisoner  in  court  ? "  inquired  the 
Judge. 

"  He  will  be  here  in  a  moment ;  an  officer 
has  gone  after  him,"  explained  the  Sheriff,  who 
stood  near. 

It  was  but  a  step  to  the  jail.  Very  shortly 
the  officer  returned,  bringing  with  him  hand- 
some, well-dressed,  lithe,  quick-stepping,  dark- 
haired,  red-cheeked  Adolphe  Leclerc. 

"  Who  defends  ?  "  asked  the  Judge,  curtly. 

"  I  was  assigned  by  the  Court,"  said  a  mod- 
est, boyish  lawyer. 

A  jury  was  at  once  impanelled,  and  the 
trial  proceeded. 

The  evidence  against  Monsieur  Leclerc  was 


144  H ATT 'IE1 8  ROMANCE. 

that  he,  a  stranger  in  the  city,  had  boarded  for 
three  months  in  River  Street,  at  Hattie's  home, 
and  that  on  Christmas  Day  (two  weeks  before 
the  trial)  the  house  next  to  Hattie's  home  had 
been  broken  into,  and  household  goods  taken. 
It  had  been  done  between  the  hours  of  one  and 
two  o'clock  in  the  day.  The  family  had  gone 
out  at  one,  and  at  two  o'clock  the  goods  ap- 
peared in  a  pawnbroker's  shop  on  the  next 
block.  This  fixed  the  hour  when  the  crime  had 
been  committed.  Monsieur  Leclerc  being  a 
stranger  and  foreigner,  and  boarding  in  the 
house  adjoining  that  from  which  the  goods 
were  taken,  was  naturally  enough  suspected. 
But  the  clinching  thing  about  it  was  that  the 
pawnbroker  in  whose  shop  the  goods  were  found 
was  confident  that  monsieur  was  the  identical 
young  man  who  had  brought  them  there. 

As  this  evidence  came  out,  monsieur  whis- 
pered with  great  earnestness  to  his  boyish  coun- 
sel the  words,  "  I  can  prove  zat  I  vas  not  zare." 

"  No  loud  talking,"  said  the  Judge,  glancing 
in  the  direction  of  the  prisoner  and  his  counsel. 

"  Silence  !  "  proclaimed  the  blind  Crier  from 


H ATT  IPS  ROMANCE.  145 

his  low  seat  in  front  of  the  bench,  echoing  the 
command  of  the  Court.  The  young  French- 
man repressed  his  vivacity. 

The  evidence  on  the  part  of  the  people  was 
all  in  at  eleven  o'clock.  Then  came  the  de- 
fense. There  was  a  brief  opening  by  the  boy- 
ish counsel  to  the  effect  that  an  alibi  would  be 
proven.  The  time  of  this  trial  was  before  the 
change  in  the  law  of  the  State  of  New  York  by 
which  a  prisoner  is  allowed  to  testify  in  his 
own  behalf.  Monsieur,  therefore,  could  not 
speak  for  himself.  Little  Hattie  was  his  main 
witness.  She  testified  that  during  the  hour  in 
question  —  namely,  from  one  o'clock  until  two 
on  Christmas  Day — monsieur  had  been  out 
skating.  She  had  watched  him  from  an  upper 
window  as  he  went  with  his  skates,  at  a  few 
minutes  before  one,  to  the  Island  Creek,  a  re- 
tired place  beyond  the  south  bound  of  the  city. 
She  explained  that  he  had  gone  to  this  lonely 
place  for  his  first  lessons,  because  he  knew 
nothing  of  the  art  of  skating,  and  did  not  wish 
to  be  seen  or  laughed  at.  (  She  saw  him  from 
the  upper  window  while  he  was  upon  the  ice, 
10 


146  HATTI&S  ROMANCE. 

and  saw  him  return  promptly  at  two  o'clock  to 
the  house,  where  all  the  family  knew  that  he 
met  them  at  the  Christmas  dinner. 

As  Hattie  told  her  story  in  a  simple,  unaf- 
fected manner,  shyly  avoiding  any  look  toward 
monsieur,  the  practiced  eye  of  the  District 
Attorney  at  once  divined  her  secret.  When 
he  came  to  cross-examine  her,  he  asked  the  di- 
rect question  whether  she  loved  the  prisoner. 
Hattie,  with  a  scared  look,  remained  silent. 

The  boyish  attorney  objected  to  the  question. 

The  public  prosecutor  urged  his  point.  He 
sincerely  believed  that  women  unnumbered  had 
on  that  very  witness  stand  perjured  their  souls 
to  save  their  lovers  from  the  just  penalty  of  the 
law.  Whatever  he  might  think  in  regard  to 
Hattie,  he  knew  that  his  duty  as  a  public  officer 
required  him  to  examine  her  upon  this  subject. 

There  was  a  brief  argument.  Then  the 
Court  ruled  that  any  feeling  or  bias  on  the  part 
of  the  witness  for  or  against  the  prisoner  was 
a  fact  which  the  jury  had  a  right  to  know. 

And  thus  Hattie  ^found  herself  face  to  face 
with  the  demand  that  she  should  make  confes- 


HATTI&S  ROMANCE.  147 

sion  of  her  love  for  monsieur.  It  had  been  a 
great  trial  to  her  to  come  to  the  court.  She 
had  dreaded  it  for  nights  and  days.  It  was 
very  hard  to  stand  alone  and  publicly  in  favor 
of  one  who  had  been  arrested  and  confined  in 
jail,  and  who  was  spoken  of  by  everybody  as 
undoubtedly  a  criminal.  Her  simple  appear- 
ance in  Tsuch  a  connection  had  been  a  sorrow 
both  to  Hattie  and  her  mother.  They  feared 
that  they  and  their  house  might  lose  caste  by 
it.  But  her  mother  had  courageously  said  that 
they  ought  to  stand  by  their  boarder,  the  un- 
friended foreigner,  if  facts  were  known  to  them 
which  tended  to  prove  his  innocence. 

It  was  under  these  circumstances  that  Hattie 
had  come,  shrinkingly  yet  gladly,  into  court, 
secretly  hoping  and  praying  that  she  might  be 
the  means  of  helping  Monsieur  Leclerc.  That 
she  might  betray  her  secret  by  an  inadvertence 
had  been  among  her  fears ;  but  that  a  state- 
ment of  it  would  be  demanded  of  her  had  not 
been  among  her  calculations  of  the  things  that 
were  possible.  When,  therefore,  the  demand 
was  made,  she  felt  at  first  a  shock  as  of  a  sur- 


148  HATTIE'S  ROMANCE. 

prise  or  something  incredible.  But  as  the  mat- 
ter was  discussed  by  the  lawyers  the  thought 
became  more  familiar,  and  her  womanly  cour- 
age rose  to  the  emergency.  6*  What  if  this 
should  be  the  turning-point,  the  opportunity 
she  had  longed  for  to  save  monsieur?"  she  re- 
flected. And  so  by  the  time  the  discussion  was 
ended,  and  the  Judge  had  decided,  she  was 
ready.  And  when  his  Honor  said,  very  kindly, 
"  Tell  us  how  it  is ;  you  need  not  be  afraid : 
do  you  care  much  for  him  ?  "  she  replied,  with 
blushes,  but  very  frankly,  "  Yes,  sir." 

After  this  the  District  Attorney  strove  in 
vain  to  confuse  her.  She  felt  that  she  was  en- 
gaged in  a  warfare  for  the  man  she  loved,  and 
she  shrank  from  no  sacrifice.  She  confessed, 
not  by  a  consenting  silence,  but  in  words  fully 
and  plainly,  that  she  loved  Monsieur  Leclerc 
with  her  whole  soul,  though  he  had  never 
known  it. 

There  was  an  unusual  silence  in  the  court- 
room. People  leaned  forward  to  hear.  Un- 
veilings  of  human  hearts,  showing  hatred  and 
revenge,  were  quite  ^common  there  ;  but  to  look 


HATTIE'S  ROMANCE.  149 

upon  a  secret  love,  the  innocent,  virtuous,  pure 
affection  of  a  young  girl,  was  an  incident  with- 
out precedent.  As  Hattie  courageously  an- 
swered the  questions,  modestly  but  fearlessly 
admitting  the  depth  and  sincerity  of  her  passion 
for  Monsieur  Leclerc,  and  declaring  her  belief 
in  his  integrity  and  honor,  a  thrill  ran  through 
the  court-room.  It  was  not  a  very  grand  arena, 
nor  was  she  a  remarkable  character ;  but  the 
light  which  the  world  sees  and  honors  in  its  he- 
roes and  heroines  was  recognized  in  her  youth- 
ful daring  and  in  the  expression  of  her  face. 
Even  the  District  Attorney  was  a  little  abashed 
before  the  glow  and  enthusiasm  of  her  dauntless 
avowal.  The  weapon  which  he  had  thought  a 
means  of  controlling  the  witness  was  turned 
against  himself.  When  beautiful  little  Hattie, 
stung  by  a  taunting  question,  bravely  and  ear- 
nestly said,  with  tears,  that  she  knew  monsieur 
was  innocent,  and  that  she  would  love  him  and 
stand  by  him  though  all  others  should  deride 
and  forsake  him,  the  hearts  of  the  spectators 
were  touched;  a  murmur  of  applause  ran 
through  the  room,  and  the  blind  Crier  had  to 
command  silence. 


150  HATTIE\S  ROMANCE. 

And  so  the  secret  that  Hattie  had  cried  over 
and  prayed  over,  the  sweet  yet  torturing  secret 
she  would  have  died  to  conceal,  came  to  the 
light  of  day  in  this  strange  fashion.  She  told 
in  her  evidence  of  her  looking  for  all  the  com- 
ings and  goings  of  the  prisoner.  She  described 
the  watch-tower  she  had  contrived  with  a  low 
stool  and  an  attic  window,  from  which  she  had 
each  day  gained  a  view  of  her  hero  as  he  came 
to  his  dinner.  She  remembered  the  days  when 
he  was  late  or  early,  and  on  some  occasions  the 
minute  of  his  appearance,  as  accurately  as  if 
she  had  been  an  astronomer  and  he  a  comet 
or  a  star.  The  whole  story  was  so  frank  and 
simple-hearted  that  to  doubt  it  and  harass  little 
Hattie  by  asking  ill-natured  questions  seemed 
like  trampling  upon  flowers.  However  unfor- 
tunate it  might  be  for  the  District  Attorney's 
fame  and  success,  it  was  felt  by  all  present  that 
a  little  love  story  and  the  heroism  of  a  pure 
young  girl  had  been  more  than  a  match  for  his 
astuteness  and  learning. 

Hattie  was  very  much  excited  as  she  stepped 
down  from  the  witness  stand,  and  resumed  her 


H ATT  IPS  ROMANCE.  151 

former  seat  in  the  space  near  the  door,  assigned 
to  the  waiting  witnesses.  She  heard  the  talk- 
ing in  the  court-room  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  the  room  seemed  to  grow  strangely  dark. 
An  officer  who  was  observing  her  came  and 
kindly  suggested  that  she  would  find  it  pleas- 
anter  to  sit  for  a  while  with  Germania,  the 
apple- woman,  out  in  the  hall,  where  she  could 
get  fresh  air.  So  Hattie  went  with  him,  and 
had  a  chair  beside  Germania. 

Now  and  then  the  men  came  out  and  bought 
apples  and  pea-nuts,  and  told  Germania  how 
brave  Hattie  had  been,  and  praised  monsieur, 
saying  he  had  an  honest  face,  and  was  a  hand- 
some man. 

Hattie  enjoyed  these  compliments,  but  there 
was  a  deeper  joy  of  which  she  was  becoming 
more  and  more  conscious.  The  crisis  in  her 
brain  was  passed.  She  had  gained  her  chance, 
had  made  her  declaration,  had  told  her  story, 
and,  oh,  joy !  monsieur  the  grand,  the  immor- 
tal, had  heard  it !  She  believed  that  her 
prayers  had  been  answered  in  a  way  she  had 
never  dreamed  of,  and  that  her  cup  would  be 
full. 


15.2  HATTIE'S  ROMANCE. 

As  matters  turned  out,  it  seemed  that  Hattie 
was  not  far  wrong  in  these  views.  The  Judge 
complimented  her  in  his  charge  to  the  jury, 
and  the  jury,  believing  her  story,  thought  the 
pawnbroker  must  have  been  mistaken  in  the 
matter  of  identity,  and  acquitted  monsieur. 

Soon  after  the  trial,  it  came  to  light  that 
another  person  besides  Hattie  had  seen  mon- 
sieur upon  the  ice  that  Christmas  Day,  so 
that  Hattie's  evidence  was  fully  confirmed. 
And  it  came  to  pass  that  on  the  next  Christ- 
mas Day  there  was  but  one  boarder  at  the  lit- 
tle house  by  the  willows,  with  Hattie  and  her 
mother,  and  that  one  was  Monsieur  Leclerc, 
much  honored  and  respected,  and  he  was  there 
to  stay. 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

a  bright,  warm  day  the  Judge  and  I 
take  the  train,  and  are  whirled  away 
from  the  toiling  city  to  the  rich,  fer- 
tile, grassy  valley  of  old  Schoharie.  It  is  sunk 
deep  among  the  highlands,  far  back  in  a  re- 
mote corner,  behind  the  blue  Catskills.  Tne 
Judge  has  to  submit  to  being  lionized  a  little 
as  we  draw  near  the  end  of  the  journey ;  for  a 
justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  State  of 
New  York,  on  his  way  to  hold  a  circuit  in  this 
slumberous  valley,  always  finds  himself  an  ex- 
ceedingly great  man.  The  little  hotel  at  Scho- 
harie has  been  dreaming  of  him  and  of  the 
coming  circuit  for  weeks  past.  The  lawyers 
and  the  people  from  all  parts  of  the  county 
are  waiting  to  do  homage  to  the  Supreme 
Court  and  to  his  Honor.  Court-week  is  a 
prodigious  affair  in  Schoharie :  it  comes  but 


154  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

twice  in  the  year.  The  fat  of  the  land  has 
been  gathered  in  at  the  hotel  to  feed  the  Court 
and  the  multitude  who  come  to  the  county-seat 
for  justice. 

When  we  reach  the  nearest  railroad  station 
and  step  off  the  cars,  we  discover  a  large,  old- 
fashioned  carriage  and  a  pair  of  magnificent 
grays  ready  to  receive  us.  The  alert  hotel 
proprietor  has  come  all  the  way  from  his 
house  to  greet  us,  and  his  cheery  voice  says, 
"  This  way,  Judge,  with  your  friend,  if  you 


As  the  grays  prance  along,  the  little  valley 
opens  to  our  view.  It  seems  hardly  more  than 
a  mile  wide.  The  heights  on  either  side  are 
clothed  with  bright  green  woodlands,  and 
along  the  highest  line  is  a  dark,  rich  fringe  of 
pines.  A  sluggish  stream  winds  through  the 
middle  of  the  valley.  Just  before  us  sleeps 
the  hamlet,  and  soon  we  see  the  gleaming  tin 
upon  the  church  spire,  and  then  we  distinguish 
the  court  -  house  and  other  buildings.  A 
dreamy  blue  in  the  air  hangs  sleepily  over  the 
landscape,  imparting  a  sense  of  deep  repose. 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHAR1E.  155 

We  turn  a  corner  of  the  road,  and  here  we 
are,  right  at  the  hotel.  What  a  crowd  of 
people  !  and  what  hand-shaking  from  the  chief 
men  of  the  county !  The  crowd  smile  a  vast, 
substantial  welcome  as  the  Judge  is  ushered 
into  the  house  and  conducted  to  the  best  apart- 
ments. How  could  there  be  a  warmer  recep- 
tion ?  The  shining  black  faces  of  the  servants 
are  unctuous  with  good  nature  and  the  desire 
to  please.  The  negroes  have  clung  to  this 
rich,  warm  spot  ever  since  the  days  when  the 
old  Dutch  farmers  owned  them  as  slaves. 
They  still  have  a  corner  of  the  little  village 
for  their  own,  and  upon  great  occasions  a  few 
of  the  comeliest  are  gathered  in  with  the  other 
supplies  to  add  to  the  magnificence  of  the  hotel. 

After  an  hour  comes  the  dinner.  The  law- 
yers have  been  called,  and  are  gathered  in  a 
huddle  around  the  outside  of  the  dining-room 
door.  But  no  one  is  admitted  until  the  Judge 
has  made  his  appearance.  Then  the  group 
parts  to  the  right  and  left,  his  Honor  passes 
through,  the  door  is  opened,  he  goes  in  and  is 
seated  at  the  head  of  the  table  ;  and  then  the 


156  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

lawyers  are  admitted  and  assigned  seats  in  the 
order  of  their  supposed  rank  and  importance. 

From  dinner  there  is  an  adjournment  to  the 
court-house.  The  temple  of  justice  is  densely 
packed  with  people.  In  the  little  niche  of  a 
gallery  high  up  in  the  wall,  opposite  the  bench 
where  the  august  court  is  seated,  are  groups  of 
beautif  id  country  girls  and  women,  gazing  in 
rapt  wonder  at  what  seems  to  them,  doubtless, 
the  brilliant  pageant  below.  The  lawyers  also, 
at  the  bar,  concede  in  a  pleasant  way,  by  their 
dress  and  manner,  the  importance  of  the  oc- 
casion. Nate,  who  is,  legally  speaking,  the 
pride  and  flower  of  Schoharie,  appears  in  a 
bright  new  suit,  with  blue  coat  and  gilt  but- 
tons. He  is  known  far  and  wide  as  one  of  na- 
ture's noblemen.  If  Nate  would  only  try,  the 
people  say,  he  would  be  a  giant.  As  it  is,  he 
is  regarded  as  another  Daniel  Webster,  with  a 
great  dash  of  the  impulsive,  wayward,  reck- 
less boy  in  him,  that  too  often  defeats  him  in 
the  far-reaching,  solemn  purposes  of  life. 

The  business  of  the  court  proceeds.  Several 
petty  matters  are  disposed  of.  Then  the  prose- 


THE   COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  157 

cuting  officer  of  the  county  comes  forward 
with  a  case  that  requires  a  trial  by  jury.  Nate 
is  counsel  for  the  defendant.  The  utmost  po- 
liteness prevails.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  see 
the  lawyers  so  kind  and  brotherly  in  their 
treatment  of  each  other.  It  is  a  relief  to  the 
Judge  and  his  comrade,  accustomed  as  they  are 
to  endure  the  rasping  manner  which  is  popu- 
larly supposed  to  be  professional. 

The  case  turns  out  to  be  merely  the  taking 
of  an  old  coat  and  a  turkey  by  a  black  boy 
from  his  employer.  As  the  evidence  is  given, 
the  names  of  localities  mentioned  by  the  wit- 
nesses are  provocative  of  curiosity.  They  are 
also  enjoyable.  One  has  need  to  suffer  for 
months  from  the  dreary  aridity  of  proceedings 
in  the  city  courts  in  order  to  comprehend  how 
such  morsels  of  verbal  greenness  as  Clover 
Way  and  Polly  Hollow  can  refresh  the  legal 
mind.  It  appears  that  Clover  Way  is  a  nook 
where  the  clover  grows  in  great  luxuriance. 
Then  the  Judge  desires  to  know  about  Polly 
Hollow ;  but  it  would  be  simply  dreadful  for 
the  great  Court  to  express  publicly  its  curiosity 


158  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHAR1E. 

upon  such  a  trivial  matter  in  Sehoharie.  A 
lawyer  is  therefore  privately  interviewed,  and 
states  that  Polly  Hollow  is  a  clove  in  the  moun- 
tains having  the  general  style  and  description 
of  a  breech  -  loading  gun  -  barrel,  inasmuch  as 
things  going  in  at  one  end  must  go  out  at  the 
other ;  there  is  not  room  in  the  clove  to  turn 
around.  He  says  the  hollow  was  named  after 
Aunt  Polly,  —  a  negress  who  resided  there  for 
many  years.  He  further  takes  occasion  to 
point  out  to  us  a  young  man,  who  has  been 
brought  into  court  charged  with  a  misde- 
meanor, and  whose  face  has  a  curious  expres- 
sion of  sheepishness  and  low  cunning.  That 
man,  he  informs  us,  is  a  Sloughter.  He  ex- 
plains that  the  Sloughters  are  a  band  or  tribe 
as  marked  and  peculiar  as  the  gypsies.  They 
have  developed  into  a  distinct  people  in  this 
valley  during  the  present  century.  They  are 
so  immoral  that  to  be  seen  frequenting  the 
Sloughter  settlement  is  a  disgrace  to  any  citi- 
zen. To  call  an  upright  man  a  Sloughter  is  a 
provocation  that  greatly  mitigates  an  assault 
and  battery  in  the  eyes  of  a  Sehoharie  jury. 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOBAR1E.  159 

As  the  case  draws  to  a  close,  Nate  pleads 
for  his  client  with  a  good  deal  of  feeling.  His 
fine  eyes  melt  into  tears  when  he  urges  that 
old  Schoharie  may  not  be  disgraced  by  having 
a  citizen  sent  to  the  State  prison. 

Just  as  Nate  is  waxing  eloquent,  a  very 
pretty  little  girl,  about  six  years  of  age,  with 
brown  cheeks,  and  a  sun-bonnet  dangling  by 
its  string  from  her  hand,  comes  in  at  the  large 
open  doors,  walks  up  the  aisle  and  into  the  in- 
closure  of  the  bar,  and,  going  up  to  Nate,  pulls 
at  his  coat.  Nate  stops  and  glances  down- 
ward, begs  in  his  courtly  manner  to  be  excused 
for  a  moment,  and  pours  out  a  glass  of  water 
for  the  little  maiden  from  a  large  white  pitcher 
on  the  table  before  him.  She  drinks  it,  and 
goes  tripping  away  down  the  aisle  again,  ut- 
terly unconscious  of  the  eyes  looking  at  her, 
or  of  any  impropriety  in  asking  Uncle  Nate  at 
•such  a  moment  for  a  glass  of  water. 

The  case  takes  a  favorable  turn  :  the  black 
boy  escapes  with  only  a  light  sentence  of  con- 
finement in  the  county  jail. 

In  the  next  proceeding  we  see  how  Cupid 
appears  in  this  temple  of  justice. 


160  TEE  COURT  IN  SCHOHAR1E. 

The  prosecuting  officer  says,  "  May  it  please 
the  Court,  we  must  see  about  this  man  who  re- 
fuses to  support  his  wife.  It  is  a  matter  for 
our  county  authorities,  of  course,  but  there  are 
circumstances  which"  — 

A  small,  active  attorney  from  the  city 
springs  to  his  feet,  and,  interrupting,  says,  "  If 
the  Court  please,  I  appear  in  this  case.  The 
learned  and  ingenious  gentleman  need  not  ex- 
plain how  he  gets  this  matter  here.  It  is  a 
proceeding  that  ought  not  to  be  tolerated  any- 
where. This  man  that  the  prosecuting  offi- 
cer talks  about  is  Georgie  Wilson,  and  he  is 
hardly  fifteen  years  old." 

The  Judge  whispers  with  the  Associate  Jus- 
tices of  the  county,  who  sit  with  him,  and  then 
says,  "Where  is  the  accused?  Let  him  be 
brought  forward." 

"  Stand  up,  Georgie,"  says  his  counsel. 

A  dandyish,  sprightly  little  fellow,  tastily 
dressed  in  handsome  clothes  from  the  city,  with 
a  bright  face,  light  clustering  curls,  and  blue 
eyes,  jumps  up  and  stands  before  the  court. 

"  Won't  take  care  of  his  wife,  hey  ?  "  says 
the  Judge,  with  an  amused  smile. 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  161 

The  girls  and  women  in  the  gallery  lean  for- 
ward with  their  mouths  half  open  and  titter. 
A  light  breeze  from  the  meadows  back  of  the 
court-house  comes  in  at  an  open  window,  and 
tosses  Georgie's  light  curls  very  prettily. 

"If  your  Honors  please,"  says  the  prosecut- 
ing officer  in  a  solemn  voice,  "  this  man  has 
persistently  refused  and  entirely  neglected  to 
support  this  woman,  although  proceedings  have 
been  taken  against  him." 

"  What  woman  ?  Where  is  his  wife  ?  "  in- 
quires the  Judge,  interrupting. 

A  bright-eyed  and  prettily-dressed  little  girl 
is  sent  forward  from  the  back  seats,  and  comes 
and  stands  by  Georgie.  A  glance  at  her  face 
reveals  the  fact  that  she  may  be  fifteen,  but 
she  is  very  petite  for  so  many  years.  As  they 
stand  together,  Georgie  takes  hold  of  her  dress, 
pulls  it,  and  whispers  to  her.  The  little  beauty 
jerks  away  coquettishly,  and  will  not  look  at 
him. 

"  Now,  your  Honors,  look  at  these  children," 
says  the  counsel  for  Georgie  imploringly.  "  Is 
this  a  case  to  bring  before  the  Supreme  Court 
11 


162  THE   COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

of  the  State  of  New  York  ?  This  boy,  who  is 
well  connected  and  respectable,  has  been  kept 
in  jail  two  weeks  on  this  charge.  His  relatives, 
who  are  in  good  circumstances  in  the  city,  are, 
of  course,  very  much  annoyed  by  these  pro- 
ceedings. The  boy  came  out  here  into  the 
country  one  sunshiny  day  and  was  entrapped 
into  this  marriage." 

The  prosecuting  officer  replies  sharply  to 
this,  and  a  discussion  springs  up  which  contin- 
ues for  ten  minutes.  Meanwhile,  the  two  chil- 
dren are  apparently  making  up  their  quarrel. 
Lucy  begins  to  whisper  to  Georgie,  and  they 
sit  down  close  together  in  two  chairs  handed 
them  by  counsel.  Georgie' s  light  curls  look 
very  pretty  as  he  nods  his  approval  of  what 
Lucy  is  saying  to  him.  Instead  of  listening  to 
the  counsel,  all  are  slyly  watching  the  manoeu- 
vring of  this  little  pair  of  robins.  Georgie 
makes  advances,  and  Lucy  chirps  and  twitters 
in  a  very  bewitching  way.  Counsel,  in  whis- 
pers, compare  them  to  the  Babes  in  the  Wood. 
As  the  prosecuting  officer  fulminates  and 
thunders,  the  little  romance  in  progress  just 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  163 

in  rear  of  his  position  is  the  real  subject  to 
which  the  Court  directs  its  attention.  The 
Judge,  on  the  sly,  is  absorbed  in  the  way 
Georgie  manages  the  making  up,  and  is  ob- 
serving how  the  little  beauty  reveals  her  in- 
born tendency  to  be  "  flirtatious."  The  curl  of 
Lucy's  lip  and  the  flash  of  Georgie's  eyes  are 
much  more  potent  than  the  eloquence  of  pug- 
nacious attorneys. 

The  reconciliation  seems  happily  completed, 
to  the  great  enjoyment  of  the  spectators,  who 
have  been  feasting  upon  the  scene,  just  as  the 
wordy  contest  of  the  legal  athletes  closes. 

"  I  think  I  will  have  the  woman  sworn,  and 
see  what  the  Court  thinks  about  it,"  says  the 
prosecuting  officer.  "  I  do  not  like  to  do  it ; 
but,  after  what  has  been  said,  I  feel  that  I 
must  show  how  this  man  has  treated  this  wo- 
man. Mrs.  Wilson,  take  the  stand,  if  you 
please." 

Either  because  she  is  not  yet  accustomed  to 
the  title  "  Mrs.  Wilson,"  or  more  likely  be- 
cause she  is  too  much  absorbed  with  Georgie 
to  hear  the  request,  Lucy  pays  no  attention  to 
it. 


164  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

"  Go  around  there  by  the  Judge  and  be 
sworn,  Sissy,"  says  Georgie's  counsel  persua- 
sively. 

Lucy  hears  this,  and  obeys,  and  the  clerk 
mumbles  the  oath  to  her.  At  the  close  of  the 
formula  "  You  will  tell  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  —  kiss  the 
book,"  her  cherry-red  lips  meet  the  calf -skin 
cover  of  the  ancient  volume  with  a  delicious 
smack,  while  she  looks  sweet  and  smiling  at 
Georgie.  Then  follows  her  examination.  The 
prosecuting  officer  persuades  her  into  the 
truthful  acknowledgment  that  she  has  made 
complaint  against  Georgie  for  not  supporting 
her.  She  admits  that  soon  after  they  were 
married,  about  a  month  ago,  Georgie  left  her 
at  the  hotel  and  went  away  home  to  his 
mother,  "  and  did  not  come  back  for  a  week," 
she  says,  pouting ;  but  she  adds  that  when  he 
did  come  back  he  gave  her  two  dollars,  and 
paid  her  board  at  the  hotel  besides. 

She  admits  also  that  he  often  asked  her  to 
walk  down  by  the  creek  after  they  were  mar- 
ried, and  that  she  would  not  go,  because  she 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  165 

thought  he  had  got  tired  of  her  and  wanted  to 
push  her  into  the  river.  This  touch  of  nature 
slightly  amuses  the  bench  and  bar ;  but  the 
public  prosecutor  assumes  a  horrified  aspect, 
seeming  to  regard  it  as  evidence  of  a  very  se- 
rious character. 

Lucy  concedes  also  that  Georgie  finally  went 
away  home  to  his  mother,  and  did  not  come 
back  at  all ;  and  then  she  had  no  way  to  pay  her 
board,  and  had  to  leave  the  hotel  and  work  out, 
as  she  used  to  do  before  she  was  married,  and 
so  she  complained  of  him  to  the  authorities. 

Then  Georgie's  counsel  takes  the  witness  and 
cross-examines  her.  She  admits  that  she  is 
older  than  Georgie,  and  that  she  is  a  little 
French  girl  from  Canada,  and  accustomed  to 
work  out.  She  claims  that  Georgie  told  her 
he  was  rich  and  that  she  could  live  like  a  lady 
at  the  hotel.  She  says  she  would  not  have 
cared  for  not  having  much,  if  he  had  only  told 
her  the  truth,  for  she  was  quite  able  to  take 
care  of  herself,  she  thanks  fortune ;  but  she 
was  angry  at  Georgie  for  acting  so ;  but  now 
they  have  made  it  up,  and  she  would  like  to 
have  him  set  at  liberty,  if  they  please. 


166  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

Lucy  comes  down  from  the  stand  and  sits 
by  Georgie  again,  and  he  takes  her  hands,  and 
they  look  wonderingly  into  each  other's  faces, 
as  children  do. 

"  Now,  your  Honors,"  says  Georgie's  counsel, 
"  you  must  see  how  this  is.  This  little  girl, 
who  is  older  than  she  appears,  and  was  a  ser- 
vant, has  caught  this  boy  and  privately  married 
him.  He  is  of  good  family :  he  could  not  take 
this  girl  home  with  him,  probably  because  his 
mother  would  not  want  her  there.  Let  this 
proceeding  stop,  and  Georgie  and  his  friends 
will  make  the  best  of  it.  He  is  married  to 
the  girl,  and  they  will  try  to  take  care  of  her 
in  some  way.  I  am  authorized  by  them  to  say 
this  to  the  Court." 

The  Court  takes  a  lenient  view  of  the  case. 
Georgie  is  directed  to  stand  up,  and  the  Judge 
delivers  a  lecture  to  him  in  regard  to  his  duties 
as  a  husband.  Georgie  is  informed  that  it  is 
perhaps  unfortunate  for  him  that  he  has  mar- 
ried "  this  girl "  (the  little  beauty's  cheeks 
burn  at  this),  but  that  he  must  nevertheless 
take  care  of  her.  He  is  permitted  to  go  at 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  167 

large  for  the  time  being  without  punishment ; 
but  he  must  remember  that  he  is  on  probation 
and  under  the  watchful  eyes  of  the  officers  of 
the  law. 

Georgie  and  Lucy,  happy  and  side  by  side, 
go  chirpingly  out  of  the  court-room,  and  many 
kind  wishes  and  the  mirth  of  the  happy  hour 
go  with  them. 

Other  cases  are  presented  and  disposed  of, 
until  the  business  of  the  day  is  closed.  It  is 
said  that  to-morrow  a  breach  of  promise  case 
will  come  on  for  trial. 

In  the  evening  there  is  a  pleasant  walk  along 
the  one  street  of  the  town,  and  a  chat  in  our 
rooms  with  the  lawyers.  We  are  reminded 
by  them  of  the  fact  that  one  of  the  Associate 
Justices,  coming  from  a  remote  corner  of  the 
county  where  the  people  still  continue  to  vote 
for  General  Jackson,  presented  himself  with 
his  boots  unblacked.  It  is  remarked  also  that 
he  wore  no  cravat,  and  not  even  a  paper  collar, 
as  he  sat  in  dignity  upon  the  bench  with  the 
Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  State.  We 
are  informed  that  he  has  been  mischievously 


168  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

notified  that  a  committee  of  the  Democratic 
party  will  be  appointed  to  consider  the  matter. 
It  is  said  that  we  will  see  the  result  in  the 
morning. 

We  retire  to  rest.  The  fragrance  of  grasses 
and  clover  is  wafted  in  at  our  open  windows. 
Across  the  meadows  back  of  the  hotel,  in  a 
grove,  we  see  lights  flitting  here  and  there, 
and  the  sound  of  far-off  tinkling  music  is 
borne  to  our  ears.  It  is  the  negro  population 
enjoying  a  dance,  as  part  of  the  festivities  of 
the  week. 

The  lawyers  of  Schoharie  County  are  found 
to  be  wonderfully  pleasant  fellows.  The  Judge 
and  his  comrade  discover  that  these  gentle- 
men sleep  but  little.  It  is  a  habit  with  them 
to  spend  their  nights  in  the  valley  upon  great 
occasions  in  hilarity  and  good  fellowship.  The 
Judge  and  his  comrade  virtuously  keep  aloof 
from  these  nightly  carousings.  But  how  can 
this  sanctimonious  pair,  with  their  faces  pale 
and  worn  with  city  life,  foul  air,  and  excite- 
ment, hint  to  these  strong,  healthy,  vigorous 
gentlemen  that  nightly  rejoicing  is  not  calcu- 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  169 

lated  to  promote  health  ?  Their  ancient  owlish 
custom  has  its  poetic  side.  It  is  pleasant  for 
a  cheerful  person  to  awake  in  the  night  and 
faintly  hear  the  deep  voice  of  a  distinguished 
lawyer  pronouncing  a  solemn  discourse  in  some 
remote  room  of  the  hotel.  The  voices  of  many 
members  of  the  bar,  and  of  the  black  servants, 
and  a  far-off  clapping  of  hands,  are  occasionally 
distinguished,  as  the  orator  bears  down  with 
mock  solemnity  upon  the  vanity  of  earth  and 
the  folly  of  all  human  affairs.  When  the  ora- 
tion is  completed,  the  long-drawn  notes  of  "  Old 
Hundred  "  steal  solemnly  along  the  dark  halls 
of  the  hotel  to  the  ears  of  the  lodgers.  Then 
all  is  quiet,  and  the  Schoharie  County  Bar  re- 
tires to  rest. 

Next  morning  at  breakfast  we  are  informed 
that  the  ceremonies  of  a  grand  initiation  of  a 
new  member  into  the  strange  mysteries  of  the 
"  Schoharie  Circle  "  were  performed  at  some 
hour  of  the  night. 

After  breakfast  we  have  an  hour  before 
court-time.  Shall  the  Sheriff  take  us  for  a  ride, 
or  will  we  have  Esquire  John  to  show  us  the 


170  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHAR1E. 

curiosities  of  the  place  ?  We  elect  to  have 
John,  and  soon  he  comes  to  the  hotel.  He  is  a 
robust,  medium-sized  man,  a  quaint  scholar,  a 
genuine  lover  of  nature,  and  has  the  quick  step 
and  merry  eye  of  a  boy.  He  tells  us  that  he 
had  part  in  the  grand  initiation  we  overheard 
in  the  night.  When  we  compliment  him  upon 
his  vigorous  health,  he  suggests  that  it  may  be 
due  to  the  fact  that  he  eats  a  meal  of  delicious 
oysters  every  night  at  eleven  o'clock. 

John  takes  us  first  half  a  mile  away  through 
the  green  fields  back  of  the  hotel,  up  to  a  shelf 
or  natural  terrace  projecting  from  the  steep 
hill-side  that  walls  in  the  valley.  Here  we  find 
ourselves  among  the  white  marble  slabs  of  a 
cemetery;  and  John  points  out  the  graves 
where  the  German  forefathers  of  the  hamlet 
sleep.  He  tells  us  that  some  of  the  Palatines 
came  across  the  country  from  the  Hudson  in 
1710  and  discovered  this  beautiful  valley,  and 
in  1713  they  came  here  and  settled.  Then  he 
traces  the  history  of  monumental  art  in  the 
valley,  pointing  out  the  old  gray  limestone  ceme- 
tery slabs  of  ancient  date  with  their  queer  carv- 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  171 

ings,  and  then  the  lighter  sandstone,  and  at 
length  the  monumental  marble.  He  calls  our 
attention  also  to  the  cedar-trees  and  the  arbor 
vita3  in  the  cemetery  grounds.  Forty  years 
ago,  he  tells  us,  he  planted  these  trees  with  his 
own  hands,  and  they  are  his  gift  to  the  people. 

John  points  out  a  place  hard  by  where  the 
first  settlers  erected  their  church  in  1750. 
All  their  names,  he  assures  us,  were  carved 
upon  the  foundation-stones  of  the  sacred  edifice. 

From  the  cemetery  John  takes  us  higher  up 
the  hill-side  to  a  rocky  place  and  a  stone-quarry. 
Here  he  points  out  abrasions  and  long  scratches 
in  the  surface  of  the  polished  rock.  These,  he 
explains,  are  glacier-marks.  He  demonstrates 
with  the  fine  enthusiasm  of  a  true  lover  of 
science  where  the  icy  stream  must  have  flowed 
in  the  dim  and  faded  centuries  of  an  unknown 
past.  He  pictures  very  vividly  the  glacier  in 
its  grinding  progress  over  the  rock  when  the 
Catskills  were  as  high  as  the  Alps  and  Scho- 
harie  a  mass  of  ice.  He  paints  with  glowing 
words  an  unknown  world.  The  Judge  politely 
asks  him  how  he  knows  all  that  he  describes 


172  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

to  be  true.  John  points  triumphantly  to  the 
scratches  in  the  rock,  and  his  eloquence  is  re- 
newed with  tenfold  fervor.  He  overwhelms 
our  doubts,  and  we  are  convinced. 

Then  he  calls  attention  to  the  features  of  the 
valley  as  it  now  exists.  Across  upon  the  other 
side  we  discern  terraces  which  he  tells  us  are 
graperies.  The  view,  he  assures  us,  is  some- 
what like  what  may  be  seen  along  the  Rhine  or 
in  Switzerland.  He  has  never  been  to  those 
distant  places,  but  travelers  have  declared  to 
him  that  in  his  native  valley  he  has  in  minia- 
ture the  scenery  of  the  world.  He  is  satisfied 
with  this,  and  has  no  desire  to  leave  his  home, 
until  his  friends  shall  bear  him  to  his  last  rest 
beneath  the  cedars  and  the  arbor  vitaB  upon 
the  hill-side. 

Returning  toward  the  hotel,  we  pass  near 
the  present  church  edifice,  built  in  1776.  The 
date  is  seen  in  huge  iron  figures  upon  the 
tower.  John  tells  us  that  the  stones  that  were 
the  foundation  of  the  church  first  erected  by 
the  settlers  were  taken  out  and  brought  down 
and  used  for  the  foundation  of  this  modern 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  173 

structure.  We  go  and  examine  the  foundation, 
and  find  carved  in  rude  German  letters  the 
names  of  the  forefathers. 

John  tells  us  that  the  stone  church,  a  mile 
away  down  the  valley,  was  once  used  as  a  fort, 
and  that  a  cannon-ball  fired  in  time  of  war  is 
embedded  in  the  tower.  He  enlarges  upon  the 
history  of  the  valley,  rendering  it  apparent  that 
not  only  the  scenery  but  the  history  of  the 
world  is  to  be  found  in  miniature  in  Schoharie. 
Even  the  emancipation  experiment  has  been 
tested  there  by  fifty  years  of  trial.  He  is 
bound  to  add  that  the  two  hundred  negroes  in 
Schoharie  retain  their  prodigal  and  shiftless 
habits  to  this  day.  He  does  not  think  any  im- 
portant change  has  been  effected  in  their  pros- 
pects or  character. 

John  has  one  more  curiosity  to  show  us.  We 
will  go  with  him  to  a  little  building  which  he 
calls  his  office,  where  he  has  gathered  and  ar- 
ranged the  fossils  and  minerals  and  curious 
historical  relics  of  the  region.  He  presents  for 
our  inspection  the  ancient  vane  that  adorned 
the  spire  of  the  church  built  by  the  early  set- 


174  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

tiers.  This  vane  is  of  iron,  and  in  the  form 
of  a  crowing  cock,  with  magnificent  flowing 
tail-feathers.  John  assures  us  that  this  cock 
crowed  for  many  years  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Ehine  before  the  Palatines  brought  it  with 
them  to  Schoharie. 

While  we  are  looking,  the  court-house  bell 
surprises  us,  and  we  hasten  away.  Reaching 
the  court-room,  we  find  the  crowd  even  denser 
than  on  the  previous  day.  A  little  formal  busi- 
ness is  first  transacted.  A  sly  glance  reveals 
that  the  Associate  Justice  has  been  frightened 
into  a  paper  collar,  but  resists  other  innova- 
tions. He  is  making  his  stand  upon  the  boots : 
they  remain  unblacked  and  brown  and  rusty. 

The  formal  matters  having  been  disposed  of, 
the  breach  of  promise  case  is  taken  up.  The 
defendant  is  a  stout,  honest  -  faced  country- 
man. His  lawyer  is  the  attorney  from  the 
city.  It  seems  that  the  affair  occurred  years 
ago,  when  the  defendant  was  a  bachelor.  ~A 
neighborhood  quarrel  has  now  revived  it.  The 
sharp  points  are  brought  out  upon  the  cross- 
examination. 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  175 

It  hardly  seems  worth  while  to  take  so  deep* 
an  interest  in  so  simple  a  matter ;  but  there 
we  all  are,  —  the  court,  the  bar,  the  jury,  and 
the  spectators,  all  drinking  in  with  great  ea- 
gerness Miss  Sallie  Brown's  story  as  she  is 
persecuted  by  the  attorney  from  the  city. 

"  Do  you  swear  that  he  promised  to  marry 
you,  Sallie?  "  asks  the  counsel  cross-examining. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  says  Sallie  sharply. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Sallie  ?  "  continues  her 
inquisitor. 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  has  to  do  with  it," 
protests  the  witness ;  "  but  I  would  just  as 
soon  tell  you.  I  am  forty-six  ;  but  I  was  only 
forty-two  when  he  promised  to  marry  me,  and 
he  was  forty-four." 

"  Now,  Miss  Sallie,"  says  the  counsel,  "  do 
you  really  mean  to  swear  that  John  entangled 
your  maiden  affections  and  plighted  his  troth 
to  you,  after  an  acquaintance  of  only  three 
weeks,  having  seen  you  but  twice,  he  being  a 
steady  blacksmith,  and  you  a  country  maiden 
of  forty-two  summers?  —  do  you  mean  that, 
now,  Sallie?" 


176  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHAR1E. 

"  Yes,  I  do  mean  it,"  responds  the  irate 
spinster. 

"How  did  he  say  it?  What  did  he  say 
first  ?  "  inquires  the  lawyer. 

"  Why,  the  first  time  when  he  went  away 
he  asked  me  to  remember  him  in  my  prayers  ; 
and  I  told  him  I  would." 

"Did  you  do  it?"  demands  the  lawyer,  in- 
terrupting. 

"  Certainly  I  did,"  says  the  witness,  "  and 
I  always  have.  And  the  next  time  he  came 
we  were  in  the  parlor,  and  he  said,  '  Sallie, 
will  you  have  me  ?  '  and  he  took  his  hand  into 
mine,  and  I  said, '  Yes  ; '  and  he  said  he  hoped 
I  would  never  be  sorry,  and  I  said  I  never 
would  if  he  did  as  he  agreed  to." 

"  Did  he  squeeze  your  hand  ?  "  asks  the  coun- 
sel. 

"  Not  enough  to  hurt  it,  I  guess,"  responds 
the  maiden  snappishly. 

"  Did  he  press  your  hand  in  a  manner  that 
indicated  peculiar  affection  for  yourself  ?  "  in- 
quires the  Judge,  with  impressive  blandness 
and  evident  relish. 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  Ill 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly,"  says  the  maiden 
sweetly. 

"  And,"  continues  the  Judge,  smiling  and 
looking  squarely  into  the  blue  eyes  of  the  wit- 
ness, "did  he  use — ah — terms  of  endear- 
ment to  you,  Miss  Sallie  ?  " 

"  He  only  said  what  I  have  told  you,"  re- 
plies the  lady,  in  a  soft  voice. 

"  Ahem !  "  says  the  Judge,  with  a  disap- 
pointed air,  as  he  turns  away  and  makes  a 
note  upon  his  papers. 

"  And  did  he  kiss  you  ?  "  asks  the  counsel 
roughly. 

"  Yes,  he  did  kiss  me,  if  you  are  so  anxious 
to  know,"  jerks  out  the  injured  female. 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  testify,"  says  the 
Judge,  brightening  up,  "  that  he  pressed  your 
hand  caressingly  and  kissed  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  answers  the  maiden,  with  a 
grateful  glance. 

"  And,"  continues  the  Judge  slowly,  dwell- 
ing with  evident  pleasure  upon  the  words, 
"  did  he  by  his  manner  express  endearment 
and  attachment  and  peculiar  affection,  —  that 

12 


178  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

is,  a  sentiment  of  especial  and  endearing  re- 
gard for  you,  —  as  lie  caressingly  pressed  your 
hand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replies  the  lady  softly,  dropping 
her  eyelids  as  she  meets  the  keen,  searching 
gaze  of  his  Honor. 

"  Where  did  he  kiss  you  ?  —  on  your  cheek 
or  your  lips  ?  "  now  resumes  her  tormentor. 

Sallie  thinks  she  is  badgered,  and  remains 
silent. 

"  Please  tell  us  where  he  kissed  you,  Miss 
Sallie,"  says  the  Judge  kindly. 

"  It  was  on  my  lips,  sir,"  says  the  lady,  in 
a  very  low  voice,  to  the  Judge. 

"  She  says  it  was  on  her  lips,"  announces 
the  Judge,  with  an  air  of  great  satisfaction,  as 
he  turns  to  his  papers  and  makes  a  note  of  the 
fact. 

"  Now,  perhaps  you  will  tell  me  how  many 
times  he  kissed  you,"  says  the  tormentor. 

"  He  kissed  me  once,  and  that  is  enough  for 
you  to  know,"  responds  the  indignant  woman. 

"  When  was  that  ?  "  continues  the  interro- 
gator. 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  179 

"  When  he  went  away,"  replies  the  witness. 

"  Do  I  understand  you,"  says  the  Judge  ap- 
prehensively, "  to  say  that  he  did  not  kiss  you 
at  the  time  he  pressed  your  hand  endearingly 
and  affectionately  and  asked  you  if  you  would 
have  him  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  then,"  replies  the  witness ; 
"  but  it  was  when  he  went  away." 

"  And,"  says  the  Judge  anxiously,  "  did  he 
kiss  you  only  once  ?  " 

"That  was  all,"  replied  the  witness. 

And  the  Judge,  apparently  disconcerted  and 
unhappy,  turns  to  his  papers  and  makes  a  note, 
which  he  regards  for  a  moment  with  great 
gravity. 

"  And  na-ow,"  says  the  torturer,  with  a  pro- 
voking drawl,  "  to  sum  up,  you  mean  to  swear, 
do  you,  that,  after  three  weeks'  acquaintance, 
Swackhammer  John  here  won  the  innocent,  un- 
tried, and  maiden  affection  of  your  too  suscep- 
tible heart,  and,  having  squeezed  your  hand, 
promised  to  marry  you,  and  then,  trying  the 
taste  of  one  kiss  upon  your  virgin  lips,  scud 
for  home,  and  never  came  back  ?  Is  that  it, 
Miss  Brown?" 


180  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

"I  did  not  come  here  to  be  insulted,"  retorts 
the  jilted  female  angrily ;  and  she  flounces  off 
the  witness-stand,  to  the  great  amusement  of 
the  spectators. 

After  further  proceedings  it  comes  to  John's 
turn  to  tell  his  side  of  the  story.  He  "  swears  " 
with  the  same  energetic  force  with  which  he  is 
accustomed  to  wield  the  sledge-hammer  in  the 
shop.  He  declares,  with  a  whack  of  his  great 
fist  upon  his  knee,  that  he  never  did  promise 
to  marry  Sallie,  —  no,  never,  so  help  him  his 
Maker,  he  never  did  !  He  admits  that  he  was 
introduced  to  her  by  friends  when  he  was  look- 
ing for  a  wife,  and  that  he  called  upon  her 
twice,  as  she  says. 

"  And  did  you,"  says  the  Judge,  with  a  slow, 
delicious  utterance  of  every  syllable,  "  did  you 
at  any  time  press  her  hand  caressingly  in  an 
affectionate  and  endearing  manner,  or  indicate 
feelings  of  peculiar  interest  or  attachment  ?  " 

"  No,  your  Honor,  I  did  not,"  says  John.  "  I 
looked  her  over  by  lamplight  and  then  by  day- 
light, and  I  see  it  did  n't  take  ;  and  I  said  as 
much  to  the  folks  as  introduced  me.  She 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  181 

skeered  me  some,  she  did,  the  second  time  I 
called.  She  turned  on  me  sudden,  after  we 
had  set  a  few  minutes,  and  said,  sez  she,  '  Mr. 
Poget,  what  is  your  intentions  ?  '  It  kind  of 
took  my  breath  away." 

"  And  what  did  you  answer  ?  "  inquires  the 
counsel. 

"  I  was  all  struck  of  a  heap  for  a  while," 
says  the  witness ;  "  but  when  I  got  my  wind 
ag'in,  I  asked  her  if  I  could  have  two  weeks 
to  consider  it,  and  she  said  I  might ;  and  so 
then  I  corned  away." 

"  And  did  you  kiss  her  ? "  inquires  the 
Judge. 

"  No,  I  never  did  in  my  life,  so  help  me  my 
Maker  !  "  with  a  great  whack  of  the  fist  upon 
his  knee  again. 

"  Did  you  go  to  tell  her  what  your  inten- 
tions were,  at  the  close  of  the  two  weeks?" 
asks  the  counsel. 

"  I  tried  to  tell  her,"  says  John,  "  but  she 
dodged.  She  sent  me  word  she  would  not  be 
at  home.  But  I  was  bound  to  keep  my  ap- 
pointment, and  I  walked  over  there  on  time, 
square." 


182  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

"  And  how  far  was  it  ?  "  says  the  counsel. 

"  Better  than  four  mile,"  replies  the  witness. 
"  As  I  was  sayin',  I  walked  over  there,  and  she 
was  not  there.  I  found  her  father  there,  and 
talked  to  him  awhile,  and  then  went  home.  I 
saw  Sallie  the  next  week,  at  the  store,  and  I 
told  her  I  had  my  mind  made  up  not  to  give 
up  my  bachelorship  quite  yet,  and  I  did  not 
want  to  marry  her.  She  cried,  and  I  told  her 
not  to  feel  bad,  and  I  left  her ;  and  she  and 
I  never  spoke  no  more." 

The  Judge,  in  charging  the  jury,  says,  "  And 
although,  gentlemen,  this  proceeding,  even  upon 
the  plaintiff's  own  statement,  is  not  as  warm 
and  ardent  as  our  experience  might  lead  us  to 
expect,  and  although  there  is  a  frigidity  about 
it  which  does  not  perhaps  fully  satisfy  the 
mind,  yet,  if  you  believe  this  man  did  gently 
press  this  woman's  hand  in  a  manner  denoting 
and  intended  to  denote  peculiar  affection,  and 
if  they  did  mutually  promise  marriage,  that 
promise  is  binding." 

As  the  jury  go  out,  John's  counsel  smilingly 
remarks  that  the  Court  evidently  regards  this 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  183 

as  an  interesting  case.  A  pleasant  ripple  of 
merriment  testifies  that  the  shot  tells,  and  a 
pretty  blush  upon  the  noble,  time-worn  face 
of  his  Honor  reveals  the  still  youthful  suscep- 
tibility of  his  heart. 

The  jury  are  out  all  night.  In  the  mean 
time,  John  and  his  family  are  sleepless  and 
trembling  through  the  lone  night  watches.  The 
comedy  in  the  court-room  has  for  them  its  ter- 
rors. Their  little  shop  and  farm  may  be  swept 
from  them  by  a  verdict  awarding  damages  to 
Sallie. 

In  the  morning,  the  court -room  is  again 
crowded.  It  is  whispered  that  the  jury  have 
agreed,  and  soon  they  are  brought  in.  John 
sits  with  his  counsel,  trembling  and  fearing. 

The  clerk  of  the  court  says  to  the  jury, 
"  Gentlemen,  have  you  agreed  upon  your  ver- 
dict ?  " 

The  foreman  rises,  and  replies,  "We  have 
agreed." 

"  How  do  you  find  ?  "  asks  the  clerk. 

"  For  the  defendant,"  replies  the  foreman. 

John's  head  goes  down  upon  his  hands,  and 


184  THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE. 

he  buries  his  face  between  his  knees.  The  sud- 
den joy  and  relief  is  too  much  for  him.  His 
great  shoulders  heave  and  sway  in  his  efforts 
to  repress  his  sobs.  The  counsel  laugh  and 
jog  him  and  tell  him  to  "  hold  up,"  they  want 
to  speak  to  him. 

John  rises  to  his  feet  with  a  great  swing  and 
a  jerk  designed  to  throw  his  long  hair  back 
from  his  red,  excited  face,  which  is  seen  to  be 
all  wet  with  tears,  and,  grabbing  his  hat,  he 
rushes  from  the  court-room. 

Ten  minutes  later,  the  counsel  find  him  and 
his  family  at  the  hotel  where  they  have  put  up, 
crying  and  laughing  and  hugging  each  other 
in  the  excess  of  their  great  joy.  The  avalanche 
of  an  angry  woman's  vengeance,  which  has 
threatened  them  for  a  year  past  in  the  shape  of 
this  lawsuit,  can  never  crush  them  now,  and 
they  look  into  a  future  without  a  cloud. 

A  day  later,  the  court  adjourns  sine  die. 
The  crowd  of  people  in  wagons  and  on  foot 
make  their  way  out  of  town,  and  the  hamlet 
seems  almost  deserted.  The  carriage  and  the 
grays  are  brought  to  the  door,  and  we  prepare 


THE  COURT  IN  SCHOHARIE.  185 

to  leave  Schoharie.  A  group  of  lawyers  and 
their  friends  gather  around  and  give  us  each 
the  final  hand-shake  and  kind  words  at  part- 
ing. We  take  our  places  in  the  carriage,  and 
the  landlord  sits  with  the  driver  to  escort  us  to 
the  depot.  He  tells  us  confidentially  that  it 
has  been  a  magnificent  court;  that  he  has  not 
slept  two  hours  during  the  entire  week ;  that 
the  strain  has  been  tremendous,  but  that  he 
has  made  seven  hundred  dollars. 

We  arrive  at  the  depot,  and  soon  the  train 
comes  thundering  along  and  puffs  and  shrieks 
and  awakens  all  the  echoes  of  the  highlands. 
It  seems  like  a  brazen  and  impudent  affront 
offered  to  the  slumbering  spirits  of  the  valley. 
The  train  pauses  a  moment :  we  secure  seats, 
and  are  whirled  away  toward  the  dust  and  the 
noise  and  toil  of  the  city.  As  we  look  back- 
ward through  the  car -window  and  catch  a 
flying  glimpse  of  the  blue,  fading  valley,  we 
sigh,  and  say  that  our  summer  court  at  Scho- 
harie is  over. 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

BAR  off,  crossing  the  vast,  dim  valley 
below  us,  the  St.  Lawrence  River  is 
seen,  —  a  thread  of  silver  creeping 
through  the  verdure  to  the  sea. 

We  are  at  an  Adirondack  homestead,  where 
I  spend  a  part  of  every  summer.  It  is  a  re- 
mote place  among  the  mountains,  and  just  in 
the  edge  of  the  great  woods.  My  brother  Ed- 
ward now  resides  here. 

In  the  bottom  of  a  deep,  wooded  valley, 
through  which  flows  our  little  river,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  back  of  the  house,  is  the  saw-mill. 
We  (three  brothers)  built  it  when  we  were 
boys.  We  still  treasure  a  large  flat  bottle 
filled  with  sawdust, — the  first  cut  by  the  saw, 
when  the  mill  was  started,  more  than  twenty 
years  ago.  In  order  to  comprehend  the  sen- 
timent involved  in  this  sawdust,  it  is  impor- 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  187 

taut  to  know  that  we  picked  out  this  place 
in  the  forest,  and  paid  for  it  by  our  industry, 
and  built  the  mill,  from  ground-sills  to  ridge- 
pole, including  the  machinery  and  everything 
about  it,  with  our  own  youthful  hands.  We 
were  millwrights,  carpenters,  and  builders, 
learning  the  trades  as  we  went  along. 

The  rest  of  the  farm  is  now  cleared,  but  we 
still  keep  the  deep  valley  in  woods,  as  it  was 
in  the  good  old  tiines.  It  is  a  very  cool,  leafy 
retreat  in  summer,  and  many  old  associations 
are  connected  with  it. 

In  coming  here  for  my  vacation,  I  brought 
with  me  from  the  city  my  office-boy,  Salsify 
Kanifer,  aged  fourteen,  a  slim  and  handsome 
lad,  with  a  sweet  face,  brown  eyes,  and  dark 
hair. 

I  learned  early  in  our  journey  that  the  care 
of  this  city  boy  in  the  country  was  likely  to  be 
enlivening.  Although  a  docile  Sabbath-school 
scholar  at  home,  and  full  of  good  impulses,  his 
city-bred  soul  revolted  against  the  country. 
As  we  left  metropolitan  surroundings  and  the 
railroad  dwindled  to  a  single  track  and  the 


188  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

telegraph  to  a  single  wire  and  the  stations  to 
mere  sheds  of  rough  boards,  Salsify  could  not 
forbear  expressions  of  contempt.  He  also  told 
me  very  frankly  that  the  people  were  the  most 
disagreeable  he  had  ever  seen.  He  said  they 
were  afraid  to  talk.  When  I  explained  to  him 
that  quiet  living  in  solitary  places  induced 
habits  of  taciturnity  and  reserve,  he  insisted 
that  it  was  not  reserve,  but  sulkiness. 

The  morning  after  our  arrival,  when  I  en- 
deavored to  impress  Salsify  with  a  sense  of  the 
grandeur  of  the  landscape  that  stretches  away 
to  a  dim  horizon  in  Canada,  he  conceded  all  I 
claimed  for  it,  but  was  evidently  much  more 
interested  in  a  couple  of  guinea-fowls  that 
were  rambling  about  the  door-yard  with  the 
chickens  and  turkeys.  We  were  informed 
that  these  "  guineas "  kept  the  hawks  off. 
The  harsh  clangor  of  their  voices  was  supposed 
to  have  this  effect.  But  Salsify  was  chiefly  in- 
terested in  the  fact  that  the  guineas  were 
great  fighters.  He  remarked  that  their  heads 
were  more  like  snakes'  heads  than  like  the 
heads  of  other  fowls.  When,  two  days  after 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  189 

our  arrival,  it  was  discovered  that  the  male 
guinea  had  a  leg  broken  and  the  big  Plymouth 
Rock  rooster  had  lost  an  eye  in  a  mutual  un- 
pleasantness, Salsify  began  to  manifest  for  the 
first  time  a  genuine  respect  for  the  country. 
The  female  guinea  has  an  ugly  trick  which  in- 
terests the  boy.  When  quietly  feeding  near 
the  chickens,  she  suddenly  brings  her  reptilian 
head  to  a  level,  pointing  toward  a  chicken,  and 
then,  making  a  rush,  strikes  the  unsuspecting 
victim.  The  feathers  fly,  also  the  chicken. 
After  suffering  a  few  attacks  of  this  kind,  the 
persecuted  innocent  begins  to  limp,  and  event- 
ually grows  weak  in  the  back  and  dies. 

Salsify,  in  a  dim,  unconscious  way,  sym- 
pathizes with  the  guinea-fowls.  He  admires 
their  neat  appearance  and  their  exhibitions  of 
power.  They  resemble  the  city  demagogue, 
who  stands  for  the  boy's  idea  of  a  hero. 

If  Salsify  is  in  fault  in  his  admiration,  per- 
haps I  am  equally  so  in  mine.  My  favorite  is 
the  tall,  gaunt,  bluish -gray  fox -hound  who 
guards  the  house  and  premises.  This  dog, 
Plato  by  name,  has  an  enemy  the  strangest 


190  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

and  most  absurd  that  ever  afflicted  a  quadru- 
ped. He  has  battled  with  it  for  many  years. 
The  bitterness  of  these  contests  has  sunk  deep 
into  his  mentality,  and  is  now  apparent  in  his 
long,  melancholy  visage.  His  enemy  is  not  a 
burglar  or  another  dog :  it  is  simply  and 
vaguely  the  thunder  of  the  heavens.  Plato's 
battles  with  the  thunder-storms  are  widely 
known  and  often  talked  of  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. As  we  came  here  in  the  heart  of  the 
summer,  I  have  had  opportunity  to  see  Plato 
in  full  operation. 

As  the  first  low  muttering  of  a  storm  is 
heard,  Plato's  warm  brown  eyes,  which  I  have 
perhaps  just  then  caressed  into  a  peaceful  and 
affectionate  expression,  darken  and  contract, 
the  wrinkles  on  his  face  deepen,  his  long,  slim 
tail  suddenly  becomes  a  crow-bar,  and,  jerking 
away  from  me  and  throwing  up  his  head,  his 
mouth  opens,  and  the  long,  moaning,  bell-like 
note  peculiar  to  his  race  echoes  through  the 
clearing.  If  he  happens  to  be  in  the  house,  it 
makes  no  difference :  his  voice  cannot  be  sup- 
pressed. The  only  relief  is  to  get  him  out  as 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  191 

soon  as  possible.  He  is,  presumably,  inspired 
with  the  vision  of  some  grisly  terror  from  the 
moment  he  hears  the  thunder  coming.  This 
thing  has  apparently  become  the  nightmare  of 
his  existence. 

Having  uttered  his  premonitory  howl,  Plato's 
next  proceeding  is  to  dash  off  as  far  as  the 
boundary  line  of  the  premises.  Here  he  sta- 
tions himself,  and  pours  out  his  soul  in  long, 
dismal,  defiant  notes,  facing  the  storm.  As 
each  fresh  peal  is  heard,  his  excitement  in- 
creases, until  he  runs  at  his  utmost  speed,  tear- 
ing from  side  to  side  along  the  line,  throwing 
his  head  skyward,  and  pouring  out  great  vol- 
leys of  sound  against  the  advancing  foe.  Dur- 
ing these  exercises,  Plato  (who  is  in  all  else  a 
very  obedient  dog)  is  equally  regardless  of  en- 
treaties and  threats,  or  even  blows.  He  seems 
to  remember  only  that  the  family  and  the 
premises  must  be  protected,  and  that  he  alone 
is  responsible. 

As  the  storm  progresses  and  crosses  the  line 
of  battle,  a  scene  ensues  generally  designated 
and  known  as  "  Plato's  circus."  It  is  evidently 


192  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 


clear  to  him  that  his  enemies  are  coming  in  all 
directions.  He  turns  this  way  and  that  to  repel 
and  pursue  them.  The  dog's  ambition  is  ap- 
parently to  catch  always  the  last  thunder-bolt 
before  it  has  time  to  leave  the  clearing.  In 
this  mad  pursuit  he  charges  around  the  house 
and  across  the  premises  in  all  directions  in  a 
howling  frenzy  of  excitement.  As  the  deluge 
comes  down,  Plato  may  be  dimly  seen  through 
the  sheets  of  water  flitting  past,  drawing  him- 
self out  into  a  blue  line  in  his  efforts  to  increase 
his  speed  sufficiently  to  overtake  that  last 
thunder-bolt.  As  the  bolts  come  thicker  and 
faster,  Plato's  howl  is  sometimes  broken  short 
off,  ending  with  a  squeak,  as  he  twists  himself 
to  a  sharp  angle,  leaving  the  old  and  turning 
to  pursue  the  new  arrival.  In  the  midst  of 
such  terrors  his  voice  also  becomes  "  choky," 
and  seems  almost  articulate  in  its  expression, 
this  effect  being  due  doubtless  to  his  feelings 
and  to  the  fact  that  his  mouth  is  likely  to  be 
partly  filled  with  rain-water. 

Frequently  it  becomes  evident  that  Plato  is, 
in  his  own  opinion,  getting  the  worst  of  it.    The 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  193 

contest  upon  his  part  degenerates  into  almost 
a  squabble.  The  strange;  invisible  powers  of 
the  air  press  heavily  upon  his  imagination. 
There  is  a  tradition  that  when  very  young  he 
was  sometimes  driven  to  the  barn  with  droop- 
ing tail  and  scared  wits  by  an  unusually  sharp 
clap  of  thunder.  But  in  later  years,  although 
at  times  almost  pulverized  by  fear,  he  has  never 
retreated.  He  not  only  maintains  his  ground, 
but  makes  a  point  of  always  pursuing  the  last 
bellowing  monster  until  its  voice  dies  away  be- 
hind the  hills. 

When  all  is  over,  the  poor  dog  comes  into 
the  house  whimpering  and  whining  like  a  sick 
child,  begging  for  sympathy,  and  evidently  un- 
der the  impression  that  he  has  warded  off  a 
dreadful  calamity.  It  is  now  past  the  middle 
of  the  dog-days.  Plato  has  become  worn  and 
haggard.  Thunder-storms  are  frequent.  He  no 
sooner  subdues  one  than  another  more  hideous 
and  awful  is  discovered  stealing  insidiously 
upon  him  from  behind  the  horizon.  Like  all 
his  race,  however,  he  is  very  enduring ;  and  it 
is  the  general  impression  that  he  will  be  able 

13 


194  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

to  continue,  as  in  previous  years,  with  forces 
unabated,  to  the  dose  of  the  summer  cam- 
paign. 

One  of  Plato's  peculiarities  is  that  his  intel- 
ligence resides  chiefly  in  his  nose.  He  refuses 
to  accept  the  testimony  of  his  eyes  unsupported 
by  his  more  trustworthy  nasal  organ.  He  has 
even  failed  to  recognize  his  master  at  sight ; 
and  usually  on  meeting  any  of  the  family  away 
from  home  he  circles  around  to  the  leeward 
and  takes  a  sniff  before  making  his  approaches. 

Plato  is  at  his  best  when  hunting  the  foxes 
which  abound  in  the  neighborhood.  He  never 
hunts  them  alone,  but  always  in  company  with 
his  cousin  Hero,  who  belongs  upon  an  adjoin- 
ing farm.  The  exploits  of  the  two  dogs  are 
noteworthy.  The  pair,  when  allowed  to  go  at 
large,  are  well-mated  vagabonds.  If  not  pre- 
vented, they  would  do  nothing  but  hunt  foxes 
all  the  year  round,  —  except,  of  course,  at  such 
times  as  Plato  is  engaged  in  his  thunder-storm 
business.  To  prevent  an  extensive  waste  of 
dog-power,  Hero  is,  as  a  rule,  kept  chained  at 
home.  Plato,  however,  is  at  liberty  to  visit 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  195 

him  at  any  time  and  cheer  him  with  reminis- 
censes  or  with  the  hope  of  a  good  time  coming. 
The  good  time  always  conies  in  the  autumn. 
When  the  summer  heats  are  over  and  the 
golden  brown  of  October  appears,  it  is  proper 
and  decorous  to  chase  the  foxes.  On  a  fine 
frosty  morning  Hero  is  unchained  and  per- 
mitted his  freedom.  It  is  a  joyful  moment  in- 
deed to  the  two  friends.  There  is  an  immense 
wagging  of  tails,  and  a  manifestation  of  hilarity 
that  seems  a  little  out  of  place  in  dogs  of  so 
grave  and  solemn  a  character  as  these  hounds 
are. 

Within  fifteen  minutes  after  Hero  is  liber- 
ated, the  two  friends  start  upon  their  first  hunt 
of  the  season.  They  generally  go  first  to  a 
piece  of  woods  at  the  east  of  the  house  and 
about  half  a  mile  distant.  Usually  within  half 
an  hour  the  first  wild  yelp  announcing  a  fresh 
track  is  heard.  A  few  minutes  later,  the  fox, 
closely  followed  by  Plato,  is  seen  crossing  a 
long  level  which  is  just  beyond  the  road  in 
front  of  the  house.  The  foxes,  having  had 
rest  from  the  dogs  since  the  previous  autumn 


196  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

or  winter,  are  not  very  shy.  Last  autumn  the 
first  fox  started  in  this  manner  seemed  almost 
to  have  been  caught  napping,  for  Plato  was 
close  upon  his  heels.  As  they  were  seen  cross- 
ing the  wide,  open  stretch  of  meadow,  it  seemed 
inevitable  that  Plato,  who  is  a  very  fast  dog, 
would  catch  the  game  ;  but  the  fox  was  a  very 
cunning  animal  and  a  great  dodger.  As  we 
looked  upon  the  race  from  the  piazza,  it  was 
jump  and  dodge  and  squirm  and  twist  and  zig- 
zag all  across  the  field,  until  at  last  Reynard 
reached  a  rail-fence  at  the  boundary.  Here 
the  fox  had  a  trick  which  gave  him  an  advan- 
tage. He  went  through  the  fence,  and  the  dog 
went  through  after  him.  Then  the  fox  dodged 
back  again  to  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  and 
so  continued  threading  the  fence  back  and  forth 
like  a  needle,  and  the  dog,  trying  to  follow  with 
his  greater  bulk,  was  embarrassed  and  confused. 
The  fox,  skittering  along  the  line  of  fence  in 
this  alternate  manner,  secured  a  respectable 
start,  and  the  dog  was  left  behind  to  pick  up 
the  track  and  follow  the  scent  in  the  usual  way, 
which  he  did  with  eager  yelps  and  howlings. 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  197 


In  the  mean  time,  the  heavy  "  boom,  boom  "  of 
old  Hero's  voice,  as  he  steadily  and  soberly  fol- 
lowed the  track  across  the  meadow  and  along 
the  fence,  would  have  told  any  expert  in  these 
matters  that  Hero,  though  the  slower  dog,  had 
better  staying  qualities.  Hero  has  been  in  at 
the  death  of  a  great  many  deer,  a  few  bears, 
one  catamount,  and  a  variety  of  other  game,  in 
his  years  of  hunting  among  the  Adirondack 
Mountains.  It  is  observable  that  he  now 
leaves  all  the  lighter  play  and  the  circling- 
round  to  his  less  experienced  friend,  while  he 
himself  follows  along  the  regular  line. 

In  some  instances  the  men  of  the  family  at 
our  farm-house,  induced  by  the  entreating 
voices  of  the  dogs,  go  out  with  their  guns  to 
secure  the  fox.  The  method  is  to  listen  to  the 
course  the  dogs  are  taking,  and  to  stand  in  the 
line  of  approach.  Ere  long  the  fugitive  will 
be  seen  coming,  and  he  will  approach  until 
within  easy  range,  if  the  hunter  remains  quiet. 
In  this  way  many  foxes  are  secured  each  year. 
But  in  the  majority  of  instances  the  two  dogs 
are  not  seconded  by  the  men.  Then  they  go 


198  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

chasing  on  and  baying  hour  after  hour,  until 
they  have  worn  out  the  day,  and  perhaps  the 
night,  in  the  pursuit. 

Sometimes  the  fox,  tired  of  the  chase,  takes 
to  his  hole.  The  men,  hearing  the  baying  at  a 
fixed  point,  know  what  has  happened.  Occa- 
sionally they  go  to  the  assistance  of  the  dogs. 
Then,  with  a  long  withe  or  pole,  cut  from  the 
woods,  they  explore  to  find  the  direction  of  the 
hole,  and,  cutting  down  from  above,  reach  the 
fox  in  his  home.  In  unearthing  the  fox  there 
is  usually  a  tussle.  Plato,  in  an  agony  of  ex- 
citement, perceiving  by  his  exquisite  sense  of 
smell  that  the  fox  is  just  in  advance  of  the 
shovels,  in  spite  of  all  prohibitions  dives  in 
among  the  implements,  crams  his  long,  slim 
head  into  the  hole,  and  a  moment  later,  with 
a  smothered  yell,  pulls  backward.  What  has 
happened?  The  little  hunted  fugitive  has 
turned  upon  his  pursuer  and  has  planted  his 
small,  sharp,  foxy  teeth  in  the  most  sensitive 
part  of  that  wonderful  nose  which  is  Plato's 
grandest  characteristic.  Plato  continues  to 
pull  and  yell,  and  the  fox,  finally,  rather  than 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  199 

be  drawn  out  into  open  day,  lets  go.  Plato's 
nose  has  become  quite  crooked  in  consequence 
of  these  encounters.  The  shovels  resume. 
Then  old  Hero  comes  up  warily,  and,  as  the 
fox  is  unearthed,  Hero's  ponderous  jaws  close 
upon  poor  Reynard's  cranium,  and  it  is  crushed 
like  an  egg-shell ;  and  the  men,  saying  that 
there  is  "  one  varmint  the  less  "  in  the  neigh- 
borhood to  kill  the  turkeys,  go  triumphantly 
home. 

There  is  another  issue  which  often  results 
to  the  hounds  from  "holing  "  a  fox.  The  men 
occasionally  pay  no  attention  to  their  beseech- 
ings,  but  leave  the  two  canine  friends  to  their 
own  devices.  In  that  case  Plato  sometimes 
turns  himself  into  an  excavator.  He  uses  his 
strong  fore-legs  and  broad  paws  in  digging. 
Holes  made  by  his  work  and  running  several 
yards  into  the  hill-side  have  been  discovered. 
Notwithstanding  his  uniform  failures  to  reach 
the  game  by  this  method,  he  continues  to  prac- 
tice the  art  of  digging  with  unabated  enthu- 
siasm. The  notion  that  he  will  ultimately  dig 
out  a  fox  is  evidently  one  of  his  cherished  hal- 
lucinations. 


200  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

The  tenacity  and  endurance  of  the  hounds 
are  best  seen  when  they  are  left  wholly  to 
themselves  in  their  hunting,  as  they  often  are 
for  weeks  together.  They  will  be  absent  from 
home  upon  one  of  their  "  hunting  sprees  "  for 
perhaps  thirty-six  hours,  and  engaged  during 
all  that  time  in  the  chase,  pursuing  by  night  as 
well  as  by  day.  Plato  returning  from  such  a 
dissipation  is  a  sight  to  see.  He  went  away 
full-fleshed  and  sleek ;  he  returns  a  mere  sack 
of  bones,  so  terrific  have  been  the  excitement 
and  exertion.  If  it  is  cold  and  wet,  as  it  is  apt 
to  be  in  this  mountain  region  in  autumn,  he  is 
permitted  to  come  into  the  kitchen  and  lie 
down  behind  the  stove  with  the  cat.  For  a 
season  he  is  merely  sluggish  clay,  sleeping  con- 
stantly, or  waking  only  to  eat  voraciously  or  to 
avoid  the  broom  of  the  housewife.  After  about 
three  days  he  is  recuperated,  and  starts  off 
again,  fresh  as  ever,  to  meet  his  cousin  Hero, 
doubtless  by  appointment,  and  the  pair  set  out 
for  another  episode  in  their  wild  career.  Such 
a  life  would  speedily  destroy  any  animal  or- 
ganization less  enduring  than  that  of  the 
hound. 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  201 

The  gentle  side  of  Plato's  nature  is  best 
seen  in  his  dealings  with  Miss  Sylvia,  the  cat. 
As  we  are  sitting  upon  the  piazza,  a  gleam  of 
pure  milk-white  comes  whirling  and  dancing 
suddenly  around  the  corner  of  the  house  upon 
the  green  lawn.  A  glance  tells  us  that  it  is 
Miss  Sylvia  in  pursuit  of  some  imaginary  ob- 
ject. As  she  sees  her  canine  friend  recumbent 
at  our  feet,  with  a  quick,  joyful  step  and  seri- 
ous air  she  comes  up  on  the  piazza  to  greet  him. 
She  is  a  very  affectionate  creature.  She  ad- 
vances to  Plato  slowly,  and,  softly  purring, 
walks  directly  under  his  raised  head,  touches 
his  jowls  with  her  arched  back,  and  coquet- 
tishly  flirts  her  tail  in  his  face.  Then  she 
turns  and  walks  backward  and  forward,  pur- 
ring and  rubbing  her  furry  sides  against  his 
throat  and  breast,  while  he  elevates  his  nose 
a  little  disdainfully  to  give  her  room  to  pass. 
If  he  still  remains  stern  and  cold  —  as  he  usu- 
ally does  —  and  utterly  regardless,  she  then 
looks  up  in  his  face,  raises  her  right  fore-paw 
daintily  and  gives  a  soft  pat  with  it  upon  one 
of  his  long,  pendulous,  silken  ears.  This,  as 


202  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

Salsify  says,  generally  "  fetches  him."  Plato 
rises  and  glances  upward  at  us  sheepishly,  as 
if  he  would  say,  "  What  does  she  want  with 
me  ?  I  despise  this  nonsense  ;  "  and  then  he 
puts  his  long  nose  down  against  Miss  Puss  and 
gently  pushes  her  off  the  piazza  on  to  the  grass. 
Then  Plato  returns  and  sits  gravely  down  by 
us  upon  his  haunches  with  a  very  dignified  air, 
as  if  he  had  performed  an  important  family 
duty.  Miss  Puss  endures  this  cheerfully.  She 
is  evidently  a  little  afraid  to  trifle  with  her 
friend,  and  quite^  willing  to  be  treated  by  him 
as  an  inferior  if  she  can  retain  his  good  opin- 
ion. It  is  quite  clear,  also,  that  Plato  is  a 
little  ashamed  of  the  sentimentality  of  their 
friendship.  It  is  asserted  that  upon  one  occa- 
sion when  Miss  Sylvia  was  unusually  familiar 
Plato  went  so  far  as  to  take  her  in  his  mouth 
and  drop  her  into  a  tub  of  rain-water  which 
stands  just  at  the  corner  of  the  house ;  but, 
upon  cross-examination,  the  evidence  of  this 
did  not  seem  to  me  sufficient.  There  can  be 
no  doubt,  however,  that  Plato  does  not  like 
publicly  to  own  his  friendship  for  the  cat.  He 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  203 

would  unquestionably  be  very  unwilling  to  have 
his  cousin  Hero  know  of  it. 

I  have  not  been  able  to  impress  Salsify  with 
my  ideas  of  Plato.  He  regards  "  that  fool  of 
a  dog  "  as  a  failure.  Salsify  is  to  me  a  per- 
petual delight.  His  utter  ignorance  of  the 
different  varieties  of  trees  and  of  the  bircls  we 
see  is  amazing. 

As  soon  as  we  came  here  I  established  a  lit- 
tle camp  for  picnicking  about  a  mile  below  the 
mill,  in  the  deep,  wooded  ravine  through  which 
flows  the  river.  Here  Salsify  and  I  have  spent 
many  of  the  warmest  days,  entirely  free  from 
the  heat.  We  occupy  the  time  with  fishing, 
conversation,  reading,  and  athletic  games.  We 
have  but  few  callers :  a  solitary  crane  hangs 
round,  and  a  kingfisher  claims  an  adverse  pos- 
session. We  could  easily  take  along  the  rifle 
which  is  at  the  house  and  kill  the  kingfisher 
and  the  crane,  and  perhaps  some  of  the  red  and 
black  squirrels  that  frequent  the  cool,  wooded 
valley ;  but  we  are  both  opposed  to  such  pro- 
ceedings, and  object  to  them  when  they  are 
suggested  by  our  country  friends.  As  we  sit 


204  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

on  the  piazza  at  the  house  with  the  family  and 
the  neighbors  in  the  cool  of  the  day,  and  talk 
of  our  little  camp  where  we  picnic,  and  of 
farming,  and  hunting,  and  other  topics,  there 
is  greater  freedom  and  enjoyment  than  I  have 
known  anywhere  else,  except,  perhaps,  among 
the  girls  and  boys  at  a  district  school.  The 
families  of  the  neighborhood  seem  to  constitute 
only  one  large  family.  They  run  in  and  out 
and  about  each  other's  houses  as  if  they  were 
common  property.  Salsify  is  beginning  to  en- 
joy this  free  life,  and  says  he  never  found  so 
much  pleasure  in  any  other.  The  freedom  of 
the  place  has  extended  to  our  camp,  rendering 
the  long  talks  which  Salsify  and  I  enjoy  there 
free  and  confidential.  My  own  burden  —  the 
knowledge  that  life  is  so  far  advanced  with  me 
and  I  have  accomplished  so  little  —  has  been 
placed  frankly  before  my  office-boy  during  the 
days  we  have  spent  together  in  the  leafy  soli- 
tude of  the  woods  lying  on  the  bank  of  the 
river.  We  have  also  read  a  few  books  to- 
gether ;  but  there  is  a  difference  in  our  tastes 
which  works  against  success  in  this  direction  : 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  205 

he  stills  clings  to  sea-stories  and  delights  in 
piratical  adventures.  We  get  along  better  in 
relating  our  experiences.  He  exerts  himself  to 
impress  me  with  a  sense  of  the  daring  character 
of  his  adventures.  The  days  at  school  when  he 
"  licked  "  all  the  other  boys,  and  the  days  in 
the  streets  when  he .  fought  with  the  "  mud- 
larks "  and  was  himself  "covered  with  gore" 
and  glory,  are  dwelt  upon  for  my  edification. 

This  extravagant  talk  on  the  part  of  Salsify 
has  to  be  taken  with  a  good  deal  of  allowance. 
He  is  a  fine  young  chap,  with  generous  im- 
pulses, and  his  reckless  boasting  is  in  part 
the  result  of  a  pardonable  purpose.  For  this 
youth  is  trying  to  ward  off  what  he  regards 
as  a  dire  calamity,  and  he  thinks  this  kind  of 
talk  may  help  him. 

The  calamity  which  Salsify  dreads,  and  the 
fear  of  which  is  a  burden  to  him,  is  the  impu- 
tation of  goodness.  Vague  as  the  danger  is, 
and  perhaps  to  most  minds  shadowy,  it  is  as 
much  a  reality  to  him  as  my  burden  is  to  me, 
or  the  thunder-storm  to  Plato.  It  appears  that 
on  several  occasions  at  the  Sunday-school  and 


206  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

elsewhere  Salsify  has  been  called  "  a  good 
boy."  No  other  appellation  could  so  humiliate 
or  depress  him.  "  I  am  no  saint,"  he  pleads 
indignantly,  as  he  discourses  of  his  grievance 
in  our  camp.  And  then  he  proceeds  to  lay 
before  me  the  lies  he  has  told,  the  battles  he 
has  fought,  and  the  small  thefts  he  has  com- 
mitted. I  discover  also  that  he  has  a  list  of 
semi-profane  words,  which  he  explodes  like 
fire-crackers  in  his  vehement  talk.  In  reply  to 
Salsify  I  am  compelled  to  admit  that,  taking 
all  the  sins  together  which  he  has  committed 
since  his  babyhood,  the  array  is  perhaps  suf- 
ficient to  constitute  a  barrier  against  goodness. 
But  I  do  not  tell  him  that  which  I  cannot  help 
thinking,  —  that,  with  his  extremely  impulsive 
nature,  sweet  disposition,  and  honesty  of  pur- 
pose, he  is  not  likely  wholly  to  escape  the  im- 
putation which  he  so  much  dreads. 

Salsify's  criticism  of  those  who  have  been  his 
instructors  at  school  is  interesting.  "  There  is 
Miss  Williams,"  he  exclaims  patronizingly, 
"  who  might  be  a  real  nice  girl,  but  she  is  a 
slave  to  duty,  and  has  no  more  idea  of  free- 
dom or  a  good  time  than  a  machine." 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  207 

I  suggest  that  she  is  discreet. 

He  replies  that  she  makes  an  old  hen  of  her- 
self, and  that  if  any  one  has  got  to  be  always 
discreet  like  that,  it  is  110  use  to  live. 

I  remark  that  I  have  heard  her  speak  well 
of  him. 

"  Yes,"  says  Salsify,  a  little  conceitedly,  "  I 
know  she  likes  me."  And  then,  after  a  mo- 
ment's reflection,  he  adds  indignantly,  "  I  don't 
like  her :  she  thinks  I  am  good :  she  thinks  I 
am  a  little  tin  angel  on  wheels." 

Two  miles  east  of  our  farm-house,  on  a  hill- 
side, is  a  small  hut,  which  can  be  distinctly 
seen  in  a  clear  day,  and  which  is  brought  out 
very  plainly  by  using  a  spy-glass.  This  hut 
interests  Salsify  and  the  rest  of  us,  because  it 
is  the  hunting-lodge  of  the  Alaska-saple-man. 
(The  word  sable  is  always  pronounced  saple 
in  this  region.) 

The  authorities  in  such  matters  here  say 
that  of  course  there  is  no  such  animal  as  the 
Alaska  saple ;  but  they  add,  with  a  laugh,  that 
the  fur  of  the  Alaska  saple  is  obtained  from 
an  odorous  animal  not  convenient  to  stumble 


208  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

over  on  moonlight  nights.  The  fur  of  the 
Alaska  saple  in  the  market  might  not  seem 
as  sweet  by  another  name.  Therefore  there 
is,  as  a  convenient  fiction,  such  an  animal  as 
the  Alaska  saple,  and  his  fur  is  very  fine,  and 
happens  now  to  be  in  fashion. 

For  some  months  in  autumn  and  winter  the 
Alaska-saple-man  pursues  his  lucrative  calling. 
He  lives  a  hermit-life,  and  is  not  likely  to  be 
troubled  with  visitors.  At  the  termination  of 
his  exile  he  deodorizes  himself,  his  dog,  and 
his  peltry,  manages  to  get  into  a  new  suit  of 
clothes  at  some  intermediate  point,  and  returns 
to  his  fellow-beings. 

I  have  not  stated  hitherto  the  fact  that  our 
little  camp  and  general  location  are  in  and 
near  a  belt  of  woods  which  connects  (with 
some  slight  breaks  caused  by  clearings)  the 
Adirondack  forest  with  the  forests  of  Canada. 
More  or  less  deer  are  seen  every  season  passing 
over  this  territory  or  run- way  in  their  journey- 
ings,  and  now  and  then  a  bear  is  discovered 
along  the  same  line.  These  are  often  pursued 
and  killed.  Sometimes  the  hunt  and  capture 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  209 

are  in  sight  of  the  houses.  The  story  of  each 
of  these  incidents  is  valued  as  an  important 
part  of  the  history  of  the  neighborhood.  The 
oldest  bear-story  relates  a  capture  four  miles 
away,  at  the  Corners.  There  is  a  small  church 
at  the  Corners.  Soon  after  it  was  built,  forty 
years  ago,  one  Sunday,  while  the  people  were 
in  church,  they  heard  suddenly  a  great  noise 
outside  on  the  green.  Looking  out,  they  saw 
an  immense  black  bear,  fighting  with  three 
dogs.  The  meeting  closed  unceremoniously, 
and  the  people  went  out  to  see  the  fight.  In 
a  few  minutes  the  hunters  who  were  pursuing 
came  up,  and  the  bear  was  killed. 

It  would  require  a  pretty  thick  volume  to 
set  forth  the  store  of  good  things  in  the  way  of 
hunting  adventures  and  incidents  which  have 
accumulated  in  our  neighborhood  within  the 
last  thirty  years.  They  can  be  told  worthily 
only  by  the  hunters  themselves,  in  the  cool 
Adirondack  summer  twilight  or  by  the  winter 
fireside. 

Salsify's  interest  in  the  narrations  we  heard 
of  hunting-exploits  evening  after  evening  on 

14 

7 


210  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

the  piazza,  the  first  week  after  our  arrival,  was 
extreme.  Moved  by  curiosity  and  the  stories, 
he  naturally  desired  to  explore,  and  resolved, 
among  other  things,  to  attend  church  at  the 
Corners,  where  that  bear  was  killed  on  the 
green.  On  Sunday  morning,  before  I  was 
aware  of  it,  he  had  arrayed  himself  and  had 
gone  alone  to  the  place.  He  returned  early  in 
the  afternoon,  and  explained  to  me  that  the 
church-services  did  not  amount  to  anything, 
and  that  he  had  never  been  so  stared  at  in  all 
his  life  before.  He  professed,  however,  not  to 
care  for  the  staring,  and  said  he  could  look 
any  man,  woman,  or  child  of  them  all,  includ- 
ing the  preacher,  out  of  countenance  in  ten 
seconds. 

I  did  not  venture  at  the  time  to  tell  Salsify 
why  he  had  attracted  so  much  attention.  I 
enlightened  him  gradually  in  the  course  of  the 
week,  as  I  thought  he  could  bear  it.  When 
I  had  told  him  all,  he  was,  to  my  surprise,  not 
abashed,  but  pleased,  and  gloried  in  the  sensa- 
tion he  had  created.  The  fact  was,  he  had 
decked  himself  out  in  what  he  supposed  to  be 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  211 

real  country  style.  Whether  he  had  gained 
his  ideas  from  Buffalo  BiD  as  seen  on  the 
stage,  or  from  some  book,  I  did  not  learn. 
However  it  was,  he  had  brought  the  things 
with  him  in  his  trunk,  and  his  suit  consisted 
of  blue  flannel  pants,  a  handsome  blue  flannel 
shirt,  with  broad  collar  and  silver  st.  rs,  and  a 
pair  of  brilliant  red  suspenders,  without  coat 
or  vest.  It  was  a  neat  rig  for  fancy  yachting, 
or  for  a  hero  on  the  stage ;  but  for  a  quiet 
little  country  church,  in  which  there  were  not 
five  people  who  had  ever  seen  the  sea  or  a 
theatre,  it  was  not  quite  the  thing  certainly.  I 
learned  afterward  that  Salsify  was  variously 
taken  by  the  plain  people  who  saw  him  for  a 
drummer-boy,  a  sailor,  an  actor,  an  escaped 
circus-performer,  and  a  vender  of  patent  medi- 
cines. 

As  Salsify  came  to  know  of  these  misappre- 
hensions, he  rejoiced  in  them,  and  was  de- 
lighted with  the  sensation  he  had  produced. 

The  next  Sabbath,  when  I  went  with  him  to 
the  same  church,  he  urged  so  strongly  his  right 
to  wear  the  brilliant  suit  again  that  (with 


212  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

some  modifications)  it  was  permitted.  I 
noticed  that  lie  sat  during  the  entire  service  in 
a  belligerent  attitude,  breathing  defiance.  The 
religious  exercises,  simple  and  majestic  in  their 
homely  setting,  entirely  failed  to  reach  down 
to  the  current  of  his  youthful  life.  His  im- 
aginary contest  with  the  worshipers  entirely 
absorbed  him. 

Another  of  Salsify's  explorations  consisted 
in  seeing  how  near  he  could  get  to  the  hut  of 
the  Alaska-saple-man.  With  this  object  in 
view,  he  wandered  off  alone,  intending  to 
make  his  way  through  the  woods  in  a  direct 
line  to  the  locality.  He  was  absent  all  day, 
and  returned  from  "  somewhere  down  toward 
Canada,"  having  gone  astray.  Coming  out  on 
a  road,  he  paid  a  man  who  knew  the  country 
a  dollar  and  a  half  to  bring  him  home,  where 
he  arrived  after  nightfall. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  experience  on  the  part 
of  Salsify  that  led  him  and  all  of  us  to  take  so 
deep  an  interest  in  the  boy  who  was  lost  near 
Blue  Mountain.  Blue  Mountain  is  about 
twenty  miles  from  where  we  are  located.  The 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  213 

news  that  a  boy  was  lost  in  the  woods  spread 
very  rapidly.  The  huckleberry-plains  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain  are  visited  every  year  by 
farmers  who  come  with  their  families,  and 
camp  in  this  wild  section  and  pick  berries,  and 
make  a  holiday  time  of  it.  The  boy  who  was 
lost,  Andrew  Garfield  by  name,  was  in  one  of 
these  camps.  He  went  out  toward  evening  to 
hunt  partridges,  and  did  not  come  back.  His 
parents  and  the  camps  were,  of  course,  alarmed. 
Quite  a  disturbance  was  made,  and  a  good 
many  people  were  said  to  have  gone  to  the 
place  next  day.  The  second  day  after  Andrew 
disappeared,  my  brother  Edward  and  Salsify 
and  I  went  to  the  scene.  Edward  drove  his 
team,  taking  us  with  him  in  a  rough  lumber- 
wagon.  The  twenty  miles  of  road  we  trav- 
eled was  smooth  and  hard,  and  the  bright  air 
and  mountain-landscapes  were  a  perpetual  en- 
joyment. 

Edward  gave  a  man  who  was  walking  in  our 
direction  a  ride.  This  custom  of  giving  a  ride 
to  any  one  on  foot  is  universal  in  the  locality. 
The  man  who  accepted  the  ride  was  named 


214  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

Sam  Curley.  Mr.  Curley  said  there  was  a  new 
joke  down  where  he  lived.  Tom  Powell  had 
sold  a  cow  to  Bill  Worden  for  a  six-year-old  an- 
imal, when  she  was  no  such  thing.  The  cow  had 
only  one  horn.  Bill  looked  at  his  purchase 
and  noticed  that  there  were  thirteen  wrinkles 
on  her  horn.  One  wrinkle  comes  every  year : 
so  that  it  appeared  to  him  the  cow  must  be 
thirteen  years  old.  He  felt  bad  about  it,  and 
spoke  to  Tom,  charging  that  Tom  had  mis- 
represented the  age  of  the  animal.  Tom  re- 
plied indignantly,  asking  Bill  if  he  really  was 
such  a  numskull  and  did  not  know  anything. 
"  Why,"  said  Tom,  "  the  animal  has  but  one 
horn,  and  of  course  both  wrinkles  come  on  one 
horn."  Bill  had  to  accept  the  explanation. 

About  an  hour  before  noon  we  reached  the 
huckleberry-plains.  We  found  a  dozen  little 
tents  clustered  together,  and  there  were  twenty 
or  thirty  teams  and  nearly  a  hundred  people. 
It  was  on  the  bank  of  the  St.  Eegis  Eiver. 
There  was  a  fine  view  of  the  mountain,  and 
miles  and  miles  of  woods  stretching  away  in 
every  direction. 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  215 

•  The  story  about  the  lost  boy  was  that,  he 
having  gone  after  the  partridges  and  not  re- 
turning, a  dozen  men  had  gone  into  the  woods 
that  same  night,  making  more  or  less  noise,  and 
trying  to  call  loud  enough  for  the  boy  to  hear 
them.  But  they  could  do  nothing.  The  tall, 
raw-boned  man,  with  red  hair,  who  answered 
our  questions,  said  they  might  as  well  have 
tried  to  walk  right  through  a  mountain  of  tar 
as  to  go  through  "  them  woods  "  that  night. 

On  the  following  morning  four  parties  of 
men,  with  guns,  had  gone  into  the  woods  in 
four  different  directions  and  commenced  firing 
the  guns.  There  was  one  solitary  report  of  a 
gun  heard,  apparently  in  reply,  far  off  up  the 
river,  but  after  that  no  response.  As  they 
could  not  find  the  boy,  two  surveyors  had  been 
sent  for,  and  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  after 
the  boy  was  lost  the  surveyors  arrived.  They 
were  familiar  with  the  entire  region.  They 
said  the  boy  was  probably  wandering  off  up 
the  river,  and  that  the  single  report  of  a  gun 
which  had  been  heard  in  reply  was  from  his 
gun.  They  took  a  party  of  four  men,  with 


216  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

provisions,  and  immediately  plunged  into  the 
woods. 

When  we  arrived  upon  the  scene,  the  boy 
had  been  out  one  day  and  two  nights  (about 
forty  hours),  and  the  surveyors  had  been 
nearly  twenty-four  hours  in  the  woods.  We 
pitched  the  little  tent  we  had  brought,  tied  our 
horses  to  the  back  end  of  the  wagon,  where 
they  could  feed  from  the  wagon-box,  and  made 
ourselves  at  home  among  the  huckleberry- 
pickers  and  those  who  were  waiting  to  hear 
from  the  lost  boy. 

In  the  evening  it  was  pleasant  at  the  camps. 
Fires  were  built  in  front  of  some  of  the  tents, 
and  the  men,  gathering  round  them,  chatted, 
and  a  few  sung  songs.  Some  of  the  older  ones 
talked  of  old  times  on  the  Potomac.  They 
said  camping  revived  memories  of  their  days 
in  the  army. 

About  an  hour  after  dark  there  was  an  ex- 
citing incident.  The  report  of  a  rifle  was  heard 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  in  the  bush.  It  was 
replied  to  by  several  of  the  men  at  the  camps 
by  discharging  guns  and  by  loud  calls.  A  few 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  217 

minutes  later  two  men  came  out  of  the  woods, 
saying  they  had  felt  their  way  in  the  intense 
blackness  for  two  hours,  having  almost  reached 
the  camps  before  dark.  They  were  two  of  the 
men  who  had  gone  out  with  the  surveyors.  As 
the  people  gathered  round  them  and  listened 
with  breathless  interest,  they  explained  that 
the  surveyors  had  come  upon  the  track  of  the 
boy  and  were  following  it  up  the  river  in  a  line 
parallel  with  the  stream  and  about  two  miles 
distant  from  it.  They  had  followed  the  track 
about  six  miles  when  the  two  men  were  sent 
back  with  the  news.  The  men  said  they  saw 
where  the  boy  had  picked  blueberries,  and  that 
there  was  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  track  of 
Andrew. 

At  this  point  in  the  narrative  a  little  shriek 
was  heard,  and  attention  was  drawn  to  the 
shrieker.  She  was  a  compact  little  woman, 
with  light  hair  and  a  neat  blue  calico  dress. 
She  was  Andrew's  mother.  She  was  soothed 
by  the  other  women.  Her  husband  said,  "  Don't 
cry,  Jane  :  maybe  he  ain't  dead,  after  all." 

After  Jane  and  her  husband  had  gone  away 


218  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

to  their  tent,  there  was  some  discussion  in  re- 
gard to  the  probability  of  the  boy  being  found 
alive.  The  red-haired  man  thought  it  would 
be  possible.  This  man  seemed  to  be  an  ex- 
citable individual.  He  declared  that  he  would 
not  sleep  a  wink  that  night,  because  he  would 
be  thinking  all  the  while  about  Andrew. 

The  two  men  who  had  brought  the  intelli- 
gence said  the  surveyors  had  sent  out  word 
that  the  boy  would  very  likely  get  to  the  bank 
of  the  river  in  his  wandering,  and  they  thought 
if  he  did  he  would  keep  along  by  the  side  of  it. 
They  wished,  therefore,  that  some  of  the  men 
would  take  a  boat  and  go  up  the  St.  Eegis  River 
a  dozen  miles  or  more,  searching  and  calling 
as  they  went.  They  thought  it  possible  that 
the  boy  might  be  found  in  that  way. 

By  midnight  all  had  been  said  that  could 
well  be  suggested,  and  the  company  around  the 
fires  dropped  away  to  the  tents  to  sleep.  The 
next  day  was  Sunday.  It  still  remained  clear 
and  bright  weather.  The  day  was  spent  in 
various  ways  by  the  people,  but  the  majority 
remained  quietly  at  the  camps.  Divine  service 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  219 

was  suggested,  but,  on  inquiry,  it  appeared 
that  there  was  no  one  present  who  was  willing 
to  address  the  people  or  to  lead  them  in  relig- 
ious exercises.  There  were,  however,  several 
good  singers  present,  and  groups  of  people 
spent  a  part  of  the  day  in  singing  Moody  and 
Sankey  hymns  and  other  selections  that  they 
had  in  memory.  Salsify  somewhat  distin- 
guished himself  in  these  exercises. 

The  great  event  of  the  day  occurred  at  about 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  It  seemed  that 
the  red-haired  man  and  a  friend  of  his,  acting 
on  the  suggestion  of  the  surveyors,  had  taken 
a  boat  on  Sunday  morning  at  the  dawn  of  day 
and  had  gone  up  the  St.  Regis  River.  As  it 
was  mostly  "  still  water,"  they  had  penetrated 
a  dozen  miles  or  more  along  the  river  into  the 
woods.  Some  time  after  noon  they  turned  and 
came  down  the  river  again.  A  little  while  be- 
fore five  o'clock  they  had  nearly  got  back  to 
camp,  and  were  coming  around  the  last  bend 
of  the  river,  three  quarters  of  a  mile  above  the 
camps.  There  was  some  wild  grass  growing 
on  the  shore  just  at  the  bend.  Something 


220  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

rustled,  and  then  a  boy  put  his  head  up  above 
the  grass :  it  was  Andrew,  the  lost  boy.  He 
called  out  lustily,  asking  the  men  for  a  ride  in 
the  boat  down  to  camp.  Fifteen  minutes  later, 
down  at  camp,  a  hum,  a  buzz,  a  roar  began  off 
toward  the  river,  and  the  next  we  knew  there 
was  the  red-haired  man  and  a  handsome,  light- 
haired  boy  with  his  cap  off  right  in  our  midst, 
and  it  was  known  that  the  boy  was  Andrew, 
who  had  been  found.  There  we  all  were, 
shouting  and  crying  and  laughing.  The  first 
individual  movement  that  I  distinctly  recall  was 
that  of  the  mother  of  Andrew.  Coming  from 
a  tent,  she  rushed  forward  like  a  projectile 
from  a  catapult,  but  seemed  to  weaken  after  a 
moment,  and  actually  fell  down  on  her  face  in 
the  midst  of  the  tumult.  She  was  helped  up, 
and  had  a  chance  to  put  her  arms  about  her 
boy's  neck,  after  which  she  sat  down  on  the 
ground  and  cried. 

Immediately  after  this,  attention  was  called 
to  the  red-haired  man,  who  was  making  his 
arms  go  and  trying  to  tell  the  story,  how  they 
had  found  the  lad.  "I  tell  you  what,  boys," 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  221 

said  he,  "  when  the  grass  wiggled  and  he  put 
his  head  up  and  I  see  it  was  Andrew  a-sittin' 
there,  like  little  Moses  in  the  bulrushes,  it  just 
made  my  hair  pull." 

Andrew,  who  was  about  Salsify's  age,  evi- 
dently did  not  like  all  this  excitement.  His 
mother's  sympathy  compelled  him  to  cry  a 
little,  but  it  was  clearly  disagreeable  to  him. 
When  asked  if  he  was  starved,  he  said  no,  he 
was  not  hungry  much. 

Andrew's  supper  was  not  long  in  coming. 
He  was  annoyed  by  the  attention  bestowed 
upon  him  while  eating.  After  supper  he  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  been  "  a  little  bit  holler  " 
toward  the  last,  but  insisted  that  huckleberries 
and  winter-green  and  birch-bark  would  do  very 
well  for  three  or  four  days.  When  asked  how 
he  could  sleep  in  the  woods  alone,  he  said  the 
only  trouble  was  to  keep  awake,  and  that  "  it 
slept  itself,"  if  he  only  let  it.  The  boy  ob- 
stinately asserted  that  he  liked  it  in  the  woods 
and  had  "  enjoyed  it  first-rate."  He  admitted 
that  he  had  got  his  head  turned,  but  declared 
when  he  struck  the  river  he  understood  how  it 


222  AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME. 

was,  and  came  back.  When  asked  if  he  had 
heard  the  guns  fired  by  the  various  parties 
that  went  into  the  woods  the  morning  after  he 
disappeared,  he  said  he  did,  but  they  confused 
him.  He  would  hear  firing  in  one  direction 
and  would  go  toward  it,  after  which  there 
would  be  firing  in  another  direction  and  he 
would  turn  toward  that,  and  so  it  "  mixed  him 
all  up."  He  had  fired  his  gun  once  in  reply, 
but,  having  lost  his  box  of  percussion-caps, 
could  fire  no  more. 

Edward  and  Salsify  and  I  started  on  our  re- 
turn to  the  farm-house  the  next  morning. 
There  was  an  incident  that  amused  us  just  as 
we  were  starting.  Mr.  Pinkham  came  to  the 
plains  to  pick  huckleberries,  provided  with  a 
bundle  of  slips  of  paper,  and  on  each  slip  was 
written,  "  Tobias  Pinkham,  —  Lost !  "  He 
was  going  to  tack  these  notices  to  the  trees  as 
he  traveled,  if  he  got  lost,  and  he  had  a  paper 
of  small  tacks  in  his  pocket  for  that  purpose. 
He  agreed  with  some  hunters  that  in  case  he 
should  be  missing  they  would  search  for  him, 
looking  out  sharp  for  the  notices.  It  was  a 


AN  ADIRONDACK  HOME.  223 

very  serious  agreement  upon  Mr.  Pinkham's 
part.  He  emphasized  the  point  that  he  would 
pay  the  hunters  for  their  trouble,  either  in 
money  or  in  maple  sugar.  Mr.  Pinkham's 
notices  were  looked  upon  as  a  great  joke,  and 
the  news  of  them  was  spread  abroad  by  us  as 
we  met  the  neighbors  on  our  return  journey. 
We  reached  the  farm-house  in  time  for  dinner. 
That  was  three  days  ago.  To-morrow  we  will 
return  to  the  city. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


1 


5Mar'59CSj 


MAR  9  -  1959 


